I am arachnophobic. The sight of a spider bigger than a gnat will induce in me a state of near-paralysis. I keep a broom by the outside door to sweep the air for errant cobweb strands before I walk through, thus avoiding the time-consuming activity of stripping and showering if I brush against spider silk. This is, of course, web-spinning season and I am on high alert in the out-of-doors.
So why am I tolerating the presence of a young spider that has taken up residence in my driver's side rearview mirror? It's an arboreal orb weaver, and my prior experiences with its kin have not been the best. These ladies grow to nearly an inch in length and weave large webs across my front walk, my front porch, my back deck, and between trees in my backyard. These webs are quite strong, very sticky, and the adult spider looks very icky and all accidental encounters with them have resulted in my immediate execution of the spider dance, followed by the ritual referenced in the above paragraph. My mother-in-law reports she has seen ruby-throated hummingbirds encased in these spiders' webs at her house on Table Rock Lake. Ewwwww.
So again I ask myself, why let this arachnid camper reside in my rearview mirror, spinning her web across my window and almost to the door handle? Every day she's bigger, every day that web is anchored closer and closer to the handle. Soon I won't be able to get into my car without disturbing her spidery dreams.
I think it's purely the entertainment value. She's always out in the web when I have to go somewhere. The slipstream catches her and bounces her around like one of those little balls on a rubberband that you hit with a paddle, only much faster. I swear I can see her tense when the engine starts. She has learned to scrabble up the web structure to the safety of the mirror itself, and sits there on the edge glowering (I imagine) at me with her little beady eyes. Up until yesterday, she only made the dash to shelter if I came to a stop. Last night, she was already tucked up for the ride before I left the parking garage. She's a pretty quick study, my little friend Parker. Oh, yes, I named her. Told you I've lost my marbles.
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