Arachnophobia

Alison and I have been trying to time our arrival home so well that I can glide the car into the garage without having to brake.

Her job is to get the door up in time. My job is to turn onto the driveway at a slow enough speed to get there smoothly.

It requires the top to be down, of course. We have a couple more days of unseasonably warm weather to give us a few more tries.

Today, I thought we had it but chickened out at the last minute, braked, and waited for the door to rise more fully.

Alison lost it. "Come on! We had it! We could have done it! I can't believe you chickened out!!!!"

She got out of the car, just ranting. "I can't believe we're in the same gene pool!"

The word coward was invoked right about the time she went to push the garage door button to close the door. And saw a teeny, tiny spider.

To say she screamed like a little girl is to do a disservice to little girls. She quickly tasted the irony.

I, of course, burst out laughing and inquired as to who, exactly, was the coward. She has long despised spiders and while I roll my eyes at her squeamishness, I do understand that people have phobias and they're real. 

Also real is the fact that I live with the Captain. And the day I have to explain to him that I crashed into the garage door is a day I don't care to experience. That's not cowardice. That's plain, old-fashioned smart decision-making.