“Why do you want to put a poisonous tarantula on your head?”

My friend looked appalled at my controversial plan.

However, I was certain that overcoming my crippling fear of spiders would help win over the lovelies.

I imagined myself manfully strolling into rooms picking up handfuls of hairy arachnids and cavalierly hurling them into the streets as women looked on with lusty awe.

It would get a better reaction then my usual course of action – shrieking and throwing books at it from the opposition side of the room.

A friend put me in touch with a stunning animal expert who had an extensive collection of creepy crawlies.

She showed me three of the giant spiders – there was a smaller one, a fierce looking medium-sized one and a massive one, the size of a dog, so badass it might as well have been wearing a hoody.

Thankfully it was the smaller edition that was soon to be strolling across my head – although I was nearly sick when she put it in my hand.

I looked in its eyes which were dancing with menace – yes, I thought if spiders could talk they would definitely lie to you.

I winced and shuddered as she delicately placed this wriggling piece of exotic headgear on my freshly shaven scalp and its hairy stomach rubbed against my stubble.

Surviving long enough to have a picture taken as proof the spider was only on me for a few minutes before the sexy girl came to my rescue.

I was proud I had successfully fought off the impulse to throw the malevolent beast on the floor and repeatedly stamp on it.

Just before she put the horrid thing back in its tank she said, as an afterthought: “Oh, I have a snake and a rat would you like a photo with all three on you?”

I rejected the offer, not sure of the relationship these predators enjoyed and fearful the other two may antagonise the spider.

Because the girl helping me overcome my fear was beautiful I had tried to appear braver than I was and kept the whining and sobbing to a minimum.

I was pleased to sense some chemistry between us and after some text flirtation we were meeting for a date.

Just before we fixed a time and location I happened to delete my texts and then realised to my horror I had not saved her number and the ball had definitely been left in my court.

Then I remembered a friend had passed me her details in the first place so I called him up.

Making small talk I asked how he met her. I found myself saying: “Hmm…ex-girlfriend you say...painful break-up…I understand…anyway what’s her number?”