Leah, on learning that tarantulas can swim, makes a face that indicates equal parts stabbed and apocalyptically constipated.
“What about in space? Can they live there?”
“I’m sure they breathe oxygen, but they’d probably still survive longer than an unprotected human.”
“You are ruining all my plans.”
“Because you were going to space? I don’t think they mean to swim, anyway. It’s probably just something that happens when a tarantula finds itself in water.”
“No, I know. But there’s still the chance that you could be in a lake or swimming pool one day and find a spider.”
“So swim in the ocean.”
I can see the gears moving, the stringing up of this new and horrifying pearl of knowledge to a brainecklace that already includes the smell of rotted curry, the existence of Indonesian shit-eating cave crabs. Of bot flies and slow loading times on Hulu, so she can’t watch already-aired episodes of ‘Glee.’
Then: “won’t they be expecting that?”
Dom Brassey says: 
bangbang
