I’m convinced there should be a place in heaven for people who, upon turning to reverse out of their parking space, notice the mid-sized, black and fuzzy—pretty, but a little intimidating—spider that’s been camping in the car for the past week has at last migrated to the outside of the rear passenger window. And who seize the opportunity, quickly rolling up the windows to keep it from climbing back in, stop the car, attempt to brush the (still a little intimidating) spider off with a leaf, but failing, quickly rummage about in the car until they find, at last, a large, white (white) summer hat, which does the job, while collecting a set of gummy black streaks. And who, when the spider scurries under the rear tire of the car, lets out a heavy sigh, marches back to the driver’s seat in disgust, starts the engine while muttering aloud, “I did what I could! It’s just a little spider!” but, upon hearing those words, sighs again, utters a vague prayer, and inches the car slowly forward, gets out to check, finds the spider squatting a few inches away from the tire now and gives it one final, good swoosh with the significantly-less-white hat, which flings it to relative safety at a curb bearing some decent, and hopefully spider-friendly, urban landscaping. And who, smiling grimly, silently wishes the spider well while surreptitiously checking to make sure there were no witnesses, before getting back in the car to hurry home (still muttering) and get the groceries into the fridge.

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