Sometimes people like to call them ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ moments.

Had one of those this week.

To give you a little background, there’s only one debate in my memory which has spanned more than 13 years of happy marriage in our household.

Spiders.

I’m a spider supporter. Fair to say my wife is not.

In fact, I would say if you chalk outlined the dead bodies through those 13 years, the floors would be powdery white.

Now I agree with her assessment that when you shake a bath towel in the morning and a white-tail spider drops out, that's a serious issue. No doubt.

Clearly, it's extremely wise to keep a safe distance from those famous little black spiders adorned with a red stripe.

But the main crux of our debate centres on another famous Australian household spider – the huntsman.

Now I sit in the huntsman’s corner.

They look kind of cool and serve a great purpose ridding the house of those pesky insects.

In fact, one of the most common varieties is actually called the social huntsman which is quite apt given they seem to love hanging around the walls.

Fair to say my wife has a very different outlook on these rabid biting, razor-sharp fanged, oozing with poison, ready to attack at any given second, humongous, capable of delivering death in seconds, human despising arachnids.

Remove such emotion and do some research – they are harmless.

So we arrive at my ‘no win’ situation.

The other night when I walked into the bedroom my wife was blissfully sleeping.

A foot. Mmmm, maybe six inches. Okay, only an inch or so above her on the bedhead was a huntsman... PLEASE don't tell her that.

So, here was my dilemma. Wake her and, well, if you’re married you know how that might go down. Leave her be and ask the spider politely to get the hell out of there.

Thankfully, as I played out the scenarios and their prospective outcomes, the huntsman got my drift and scurried behind a curtain. Great... out of sight, out of mind.

I thought that was the end of it… until.

My wife apparently woke the other morning to find the huntsman sitting on her Kindle beside the bed.

Yep, that was my fault.

You see I couldn’t let a great moment such as the episode the night before get away without something for prosperity, so I snapped a pic of said huntsman on the bedhead.

She found the picture on my phone and gave me the rounds of the kitchen anyway for not rescuing her from those jaws of death or getting rid of that man-eater.

Mmmm, still reckon that was the better option than waking her from a blissful sleep.