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Spidey Senses

That is the view of my backyard and the stairs leading from my back door to the garage. Seeing as how I sleep in the house and keep my car in the garage, I have to walk those stairs every morning as the first stage of my trek to work.

Because of these exams I am always studying for, I am never without a gigantic bag full of books. For this exam, I had to upgrade to a bag designed for month-long backpacking excursions through Europe. After I manage to strap that thing to my back, I grab my keys in my right hand, along with an umbrella if it�s raining, and a mug of coffee for the ride in my left hand, along with my bowling bag if it�s Tuesday. Did you ever see those human pyramids at the circus where the guy rides the bike around with 25 people standing on his back? That�s what I feel like, except I�m doing it uphill.

Without failing, as I walk these steps each morning I walk straight through 10 to 20 spider webs that were erected and stretched across the stairs the previous night, much to my dismay. I�ll feel that ickly prickly spider web feeling on my hand or arm or face, and I clench my teeth and continue my journey up the stairs, praying that there isn�t now an angry spider on me about to sink its teeth into me as punishment for destroying its home with my lumbering body and 75 pounds worth of bags and equipment. I can�t even brush the web from my skin because my hands are already being used, so I just breath deeply until I can get to the car, drop my luggage and vigorously rub all over my body and hair to rid myself of that skin crawling feeling.

About one in ten times though, my mind will flash a scene from Arachnophobia before my eyes just as a spider web brushes against my face, and I can�t stand it anymore. Umbrellas and bowling balls and coffee mugs will go flying everywhere as I scream like a little girl, shed my belongings, and run back into the house to take cover from the angry spiders.

I�m sure you understand. It�s a perfectly reasonable thing to experience, right? All I know is that the neighbors see one of two things from their kitchen window every morning. �What is with that boy,� I imagine them saying. �Either he shaking like a wet dog at this car, or he�s screeching like a wild animal in his own back yard... Marge, get over here, the neighbor boy is having a seizure in the back yard again. Ain�t that a whoopin�?*�

* The expletive �Ain�t that a whoopin� is the invention and wholly owned property of TrendyMatt and cannot be used or duplicated without his expressed permission.