With a swollen suitcase and a diminished pocket I made a final return from my expedition. I clicked open the lock to find that my parlor had exchanged hands!

I entered as a guest unsolicited, in my own house and thereby countered a bewildering bizarre. A grey haze nearly blindfolded me as I groped and waded towards the  ceiling duster, my sole prop to restore my propriety from those competent arachnids.

They skillfully managed to convert my household from its existing state of austerity to opulence. Now hanging from the ceiling were spider-web chandeliers! And from the curtain rod, which sported only one chime, they multiplied in number and emerged in a series dangling to glory.. Those adornments were a veritable example of art and craft, which I had to begin demolishing, as a struggle for my survival. Neither there was a tinkle nor a crash as I proceeded with my chore of pulling them down save that of a sophisticated hush. My nostrils too joined the fray and substituted the vacuum cleaner in breathing in the enmeshed fibers and molecules of beauty.

As I wheezed and sneezed along I brushed against some of those tiny hosts that crawled all over me subjecting me into a wriggly dance with the nostalgic crooning of ‘Will you walk into my parlor…’

According to superstition, the one that I endorse; if one happens to touch a spider, the person is sure to receive a gift. So do not dishearten me, especially after such an ordeal; or do I already hear the gift wrappers rustling?

No matter whatever you give, a comment,

 a smile or a smirk,

I’ll thank you so

 I’ll gladly accept them, as a generous perk.

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