I’m wary of spiders. Lots of respect for them but no personal love. As in: I don’t want them near my person.
Today, at 4:22 am, I woke with an itchy forehead. Sleepily, I turned on the bedside light. I thought some hair had escaped my scrunchie and set out to handle it.
It was not hair. It was a freaking spider. I didn’t smash it because even in sleep fog, I knew I would die a thousand deaths if spider guts were on my face. I brushed it off. Then I screamed (acceptable) and ran to the bathroom.
I looked in the mirror. A red mark on my forehead. The reasonable, adult part of me realized it was not a bite but just a red mark. But. The unreasonable, seven year old part of me went to the darkest place: the spider laid eggs in my forehead and in due time, hundreds of baby spiders will explode from my face and I will die of horror and shock.
I haven’t looked up the average gestation of spider eggs (yet). But know this: if you didn’t wake with a spider on your face (YOUR FACE!!!) this morning, the odds are ever in your favor that you are going to have a good day.
The End
Driving in Reverse 