About a day or two after that, I was assaulted by a ball on eight legs.
Basically, I had just reeled in some seaweed when I noticed the little fucker sitting on my leg. Well, I dunno about "little" fucker; this thing was about the size of a silver dollar.
I squeaked and slapped it sideways, as to get it off me.
Well, that had the opposite effect, as it was now on my thumb.
Spiders make my brain turn off, so I dropped my pole on the pier, squealed, and waved my hand around. Little fucker just wouldn't let go. It hated me. It knew I was a pussy, and it knew exactly what would happen next, play-for-play.
That being that I decided to lean forward to see if dousing it in the water would make it let go… but I leaned forward with a bit too much velocity and couldn't even scream fully before finding myself in the briny deep.
And THEN, when I surfaced, yeah, the spider was gone… but Sam took its place. He'd probably seen all of that, seen me completely panic over something stupid.
"Geez, what happened?" he asked. "Are you okay?"
"I'm alright," I sighed in complete and utter defeat. "I will need to run home for a change of clothes, though."
"Understood," he nodded. "Will you be coming back here?"
"Yeah, I'll be right back," I said. "In fact, can you watch my pole?"
The only thing I could say to console myself for the rest of the day was that the little fucker knew what it was doing. If there was no plan to the way it stuck to me, pigs can fly.