…I don’t think I could be friends with anyone who owns a pet tarantula.
Before I go in on them, full disclosure: I have arachnophobia. So that’s the baggage I bring to this hypothetical relationship between me and a non-existent tarantula owner. But I’m assuming there’s a lot more issues on their side of the table.
For instance: how far down the pet hierarchy did they have to go before getting to “giant, hair-covered arachnid?” “Well, I’d get a cat, but I’m afraid it won’t horrify my guests enough. What’s a dinner party without a tarantula to freak everyone out? I’m not saying we’re definitely going to recreate the third act of Home Alone, but I at least want the option.”
If you have social anxiety, buying a tarantula must be a relief on some level. Now you’ve been released from the prison of interaction. No one who owns a tarantula has a full calendar, right? “Okay everybody, so the plan is this: pregame with some shots, feed little Marcus a dead mouse, then hit the club! Who’s in!”
How do you explain a tarantula to a date? “Oh you like puppies? Well if you like fuzzy animals with TWO legs, you’re going to LOVE fuzzy animals with EIGHT! Hey…hey where are you going? What do you mean I can keep your wallet and jacket, just leave you alone?”
Nothing against anyone who owns on, I just don’t think we could be friends. How could I rely on you for advice? “Hey man, I have no idea what to get Dad for Christmas, what do you think?” “Hmm…does he have enough live crickets? How about a spider brush, for combing his spider’s hair? I go through like ten of those every six months hey wait where are you going? What do you mean I can also keep your wallet and jacket, just leave you alone? My date last night already said that.”
If anyone who reads my blog has a tarantula and is a fully functioning normal adult, please write me at email@example.com. Would legitimately love to hear from you.