Kiss of the spiderweb
This morning, I stepped out into the fresh air, took a deep breath, and launched my face straight into a spiderweb. At seven in the morning, I was out in the driveway, flailing about, spitting, a long strand of proteinaceous spider silk that landed on my lips. I’m unsure if any of my neighbors saw my spiderweb dance in the soft morning light, but I can assure you it was a ridiculous jig as I bounced around on the pavement. No one expects a face full of web in the morning, not even Dr. Octopus or the Green Goblin. Those guys should be used to it.
The hastily constructed web ran catty corner from the clothesline to the garage door. It wasn’t there the night before because I had walked the exact path without incident.
This was no man-made Halloween decoration but the genuine article. I had hoped it was a fake, cottony cobweb from the abandoned-Rite-Aid-turned-Spirit Halloween store, but it was not.
Spooky season is upon us, and I can’t think of a more fitting fumble than smacking face-first into a spiderweb on a quiet October morning. It could have been worse; I could have stepped into a lidless jack-o’-lantern, my foot squashed into the gourd, limping around like a peg-legged pirate with a hollow-eyed, angry, orange pumpkin stuck to my foot.
There’s a specific ick factor to wearing a spiderweb on your face. It’s not arachnophobia. I wasn’t afraid, just grossed out. The thread of the web sticks to your skin. I got major heebie-jeebies.
As a child, I often worried about getting caught in a giant spiderweb and/or stepping into quicksand. Both phobias were generated by episodes of “Gilligan’s Island.”
When you’re 11 years old, roaming around the woods behind the house, any pile of wet sand can be misconstrued as quicksand. With no Tarzan around to rescue me by pulling me out with a jungle vine, I always leaped over sandy puddles in the woods. Apparently, I confused the patch of abandoned land behind my house in the suburban South Hills of Pittsburgh with the deepest, darkest Africa.
But I digress, like I do. Despite the icky feeling of the web on my skin, I felt bad for the spider. He did all that work in one night and I recklessly tore it down with my face. I need him to rebuild because the stink bugs and lantern flies are taking over my neighborhood. We need more webs!
That, and I could have counted it as an all-natural Halloween decoration. We are pulling into the home stretch, and All Hallow’s Eve is fast-approaching. I need to get through the rest of the week without sneaking the full-sized Snickers out of the candy stash meant for the trick-or-treaters.
I love Halloween, but I’m easily frightened. I don’t like people jumping out at me. I don’t want to see a ghost, and, most importantly, I’d like to make it through the week without stepping into another spiderweb.