I’m fine. Really.
I am probably not going to turn into a giant spider. Speaking of which, have you seen Spiderbabe? Best. Movie. Ever. Patty Porker gets bit by a radioactive spider, becomes a superhero and then she shoots webs out of her….ok, you know what? Just watch. I’ll wait here.
When I quit smoking, I took up running. To remind myself why I quit smoking. Because I like breathing.
When I run, I stash my car remote in the elastic between my running bra and my other running bra. This allows me to provide post-run entertainment to the other park visitors by (me) squeezing my boob to unlock my car.
As I run, sometimes it (the remote) tries to escape via the underboob railroad, and I have to make adjustments, some of which require me to stop and do some serious foraging.
Thus, I had already been to second base twice this morning, when it all went wrong.
It’s not really running, what I do. It’s a walk/shuffle hybrid. Wuffling. I go twice a week at a nature preserve not far from my house. It is breathtakingly beautiful there, early in the morning. You walk off the parking lot into that scene with Snow White and all the animals. Woodland creatures, the scent of wildflowers in the breeze, flanked on both sides by fairly dense trees, and if you turn the wrong direction you end up in The Blair Witch Project, which is how I discovered running in the first place.
Today I felt adventurous, and I took a detour via an unpaved trail. It was exhilarating and refreshing until I started doing that stupid thing I do where I think “If I were a serial killer, and I were in this park, THIS is how I’d catch a victim wuffling along on an isolated trail.” Then I ran through a spider web that was clearly designed to catch A DEER by the most ambitious spider in the world. And I screamed, causing the imaginary murderer behind me to think he got claim-jumped. I did the obligatory wheresthefuckingspider dance with a third, two-handed trip to second base and some impressive self-administered ass smacking and hair flipping. Convinced that no spider would have stuck around through all of that, I carried on.
About half a mile later, the spider got to third base. Or whatever base involves crotch-biting. (Maybe that’s just me.) I felt something tiny and sharp stab me and I looked down to see a brown spider as big as a Susan B. Anthony dollar sitting on the intersection of Third and Vine. And I may have panicked a little.
IN CASE OF SPIDER:
1. Slap the affected area repeatedly, with alternate hands, and with such intensity that later you will not be able to tell whether you were bitten by a spider or attacked by an angry dominatrix. Or sit comfortably.
2. Shriek as if all the things are on fire.
3. When the offending interloper is dislodged, stomp on it with both feet while screaming “DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!!!”
4. Sprint 50 yards because the dead, squashed spider or it’s angry family might be chasing you.
Then I rounded a curve in the trail and startled a herd of cross-fitters who mistook the whole thing for a WOD and began following my lead.
I’m actually kind of hoping for spiderpowers. Wouldn’t THAT be a shock for the imaginary serial killers? You didn’t watch the clip, did you? So you don’t get it. Well, I can’t help you….