One of the signs of Autumn is the slow but sure invasion of spiders. You know how that works. You step out of your door in the morning and there it is, that nasty web that blocks your way and is all but invisible until you feel the sticky threads across your face.
I am convinced that all spiders attend the same summer classes on how to annoy humans while trying to trap unsuspecting insects. Apart from Webs 101, they are given instructions on placement. The webs should not only be as thin as possible to avoid detection, but they must be between five and six feet above the ground, ensuring that the mouth and eyes of humans make full contact.
There is a reason for this. The human is so busy extricating themselves from the sticky prison that they overlook the spider who has now managed to hide itself in the clothing and/or hair of the victim. The spider now has a means of transportation to the indoors where it is cosy and warm at night. One should never unravel from the confines of a spider web without following up with, and inspection of, just where the spider is after you have destroyed its trap.
I made that classic mistake the other day and paid the price. It was in the middle of the night when the little hitchhiker finally decided to reveal itself. Well, actually, he did not reveal himself, and is still at large, no doubt weaving his web of destruction at will in some other location. He did, however, leave evidence of his appearance as I awoke in the middle of the night with a severe itchy spot on the south west quadrant of my person, just this side of the great divide.
After rousing myself to full wakefulness and applying some light to the area, I realised I was the victim of a spider bite. Would it creep you out to realise that you were harbouring a spider in your underpants for most of the day? That is a case for not wearing underpants. Or, for wearing Spandex. But that is another topic.
Now where did I put that ointment?