Every Wednesday morning, I take a little bit of tissue paper out to the car and wipe spiderwebs off the driver's side mirror. I have been doing this on a weekly basis, without fail, since September, and I believe Christine had noticed the spiderwebs even before that. I could never figure out what was going on with that mirror. Did a spider live inside it? That's the only logical conclusion, but how could one spider live for so long, and have such patience rebuilding his web every Wednesday evening? How is it that he could live in the mirror for this long but I would never see him? How could the spider even catch things on that mirror? I mean, sure, if the web were facing the other way, he'd have his pick of prey... but how many bugs hit the mirror-side of the rear-view mirror? I wouldn't wager many. I ultimately concluded that I must have a ghost spider living in my mirror. It was the only way this could keep happening, months and months on end. I mean, come on. What earthly spider would be so dedicated to living in a rear-view mirror?
Tonight, readers, as I was leaving the office at 2:30am, the mystery was solved.
The spider was out, making the finishing Easter touches on his weekly web. After more than half a year, I met my small, tenacious arachnid copilot.
Dave once suggested tenting the mirror in Raid overnight because he knows how terrified I am of spiders. And it's true - I am deathly afraid. It is the major phobia in my life. But I would feel bad about doing that to this spider. He's lasted so long in there, you know? Tonight, after I'd locked myself in the car (against rapists, not against spiders - though perhaps my next major phobia in life could be rapist spiders), I just watched the little guy do his thing. I sat for awhile before realizing that it was 2:30, and time to come home... but what to do about the spider? I couldn't just drive with him out on the mirror like that, could I? I started the engine and hoped he got the hint. He did. Apparently, a spider of this age and sagacity knows exactly when to crawl back into the mirror for safe-keeping. He stowed himself, and I drove home, and now I'm sure he's back out there, webbing.
I am calling him George.