I don’t like spiders.
I’ve heard that some folks do. That they actually buy them, keep them in glass cages, provide them with food… SPIDERS. Seriously. You can find websites filled with helpful instructions that include what to feed your spider, how often you should ‘play’ with it, how to water it and give it a ‘safe’ place. You can’t make this up, friends.
Since this is a PSA blog, I feel compelled to add this: Should you find yourself wanting to keep a spider as a pet (REALLY!?!?!?), just, just — well, you need help, first of all. But, in the spirit of giving, visit here for spider-care dos & don’ts. (EGAD! I just wrote ‘spider-care’ like it’s a thing worth thinking about.)
I’ve always been a tad creeped out (totally off my writer’s game with that poor excuse for descriptive prose) by spiders’ long hairy legs. I don’t know quite why hairy legs are so repulsive in spiders and women, now I think of it — but, they are. Think of all the creatures whose legs boast hair. Jack, (the family dog) has hairy legs. Lions and tigers and bears have hairy legs, and not a soul gasps in horror, ‘O, my!’ over it. Horses have their furry fetlocks. Heck, almost all of the men I know have hairy legs too. Oh, sure — some guys shave their legs for aerodynamic reasons (cycling fanatics come to mind), but most just let the hair go. We American women don’t so much ‘let the hair’ go, er — grow. Our cultural norm kicking in I suppose. The hair-covered arachnid with his very hairy legs clings with ease to smooth surfaces.(Ladies, your hairy legs won’t help you out in this endeavor.) Spiders wouldn’t shave if they could. There’s an image for you…
The overall hair factor probably contributes to our unease (okay, irrational FEAR) where spiders are concerned. Exactly why we’re afraid of creatures (albeit hairy ones with more legs than seem strictly necessary) that we can quite easily crush with one foot is a bit of a mystery, given our size, superior strength and ability to run, if not quite faster than a speeding bullet, at least fast enough to outpace a damn spider.
So maybe it’s the fact that they trap unsuspecting creatures in their sticky webs, inject said unsuspecting creatures with a neurotoxin, wrap them up in silk (ah, irony!) and then liquefy the dead remains for easier digestion. You can read all about it here. Fascinating stuff, really.
You have to be wondering why I’m bothering to write about spiders at this point.
It’s their webs.
No friend I know lets a friend get caught in the spider’s web. When heading to the porch for a morning cuppa joe, friends — the ones we simply can’t do without — will wipe away that deathtrap drenched in morning dew before we find it sticking to our faces.
Friends don’t let friends get trapped in the spider’s web. They watch out for us. They know that we sometimes forget to shave our legs. I mean, it’s winter time, I’m wearing pants, who CARES!?!?! Friends remind us that our husbands care. Friends remind us that smooth legs are beautiful legs. They say, ‘what are you, some sort of hairy spider?! Shave your legs, girl!’
Friends don’t let friends get trapped in the spider’s web. They know it’s a tricky, death-trap of a world out there. They know that sometimes we not only forget to shave our legs, but that we forget to use our heads! They know that we don’t always read the road signs clearly saying ‘STOP! BRIDGE OUT AHEAD.’ They know we sometimes forget to listen to the lyrics because we’re so caught up in the beat. They know that sometimes we’re just not paying attention…
Friends don’t let friends get trapped in the spider’s web of deceit.
I know, I know, you thought I was just writing about the eight-legged, hairy, fanged creatures that kill their supper with poison. But, bard-like (no, not that Bard. Another one – Sir Walter Scott), I practiced a bit of deception here (you know, ‘oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive’) to make a point.
There are spiders out there. Sure, they look like people. They walk, run, skip and dance – all on a measly two legs. They have bicuspids, molars, incisors – no fangs anywhere. They really enjoy just hangin’ out. But they’re poisonous. They masquerade as pals. They pretend to be friends. But they can’t quite manage it. Driven by, well, who knows what they’re driven by? Killer instinct? Survival of the fittest? Kill or be killed? Self-preservation? Superiority complex? Hunger for attention? Whatever it is, those ‘spiders’ are out there. Weaving a web sparkling in the morning light, designed to kill. And they’ll get us, every time. Because they don’t ‘really, really like us.’ Nope. They’re just hungry. And they’ll kill our spirit if we’re not careful. And this is why we need friends – the tried and true ones. The friends who know all about our struggles with spiders.