Anabella Arachnidae

All that I have ever wanted is for people to love and adore me. I am a beautiful queen of perfection and majesty. I have long slender legs, legs so long they can wrap around my body twice. I have a perfectly round; shiny-black body. A perfectly proportioned bottom if you ask me. My eyes glisten in the sunlight; all of eight of them. My favorite feature however, is my red beauty mark. It looks like an hourglass and reminds me to be patient as I wait for people to see how wonderful I really am. You see I am a spider, My name is Anabella. I just doesn’t understand why people don’t love me as much as they obviously should. I am quite talented you know; I tap dance, and sing. I look great in a set of heels. My webs are works of art. Although, I expect few to appreciate the subtle artistic weaving techniques that my web employs. You might prefer to think of my web as a Picasso rather than a Michaelangelo, it’s more erratic than orderly. I love it. So with all those wonderful talents I can’t believe that people aren’t lining up for autographs in droves.

I have a country bumpkin cousin that everyone thought was just amazing. All she ever did was talk to pigs, and write a few letters in her web. I love her, but don’t think that is so amazing. Where is the artistic message of, “some pig.” I mean I can tap dance and sing simultaneously to, “Singin’ in the Rain.” I would would love to see Charlotte do that.

Once I saw the most adorable little girl sitting on a fence, she had the cutest little purple polka dot dress on with frills all over. I thought to myself, “There is a girl who will appreciate me.” When I tried to introduce myself she screamed. She had been eating a bowl of something that looked like cottage cheese in lemon juice. It smelled repulsive. The vicious little girl threw her disgusting bowl at me and ran away crying. Can you imagine, she ruined my new Kate Spider pumps and she was the victim.

Then there was the time I threw a tea party and invited everyone. I invited Goldilocks, Belle, Gretel. I even invited Cinderella, but she doesn’t see me anymore. Not since she moved to the palace. I invited everyone, but no one came. I guess I should have invited Charlotte, and Mother. I just forgot to send out their invitations.

Time and time again I have been categorized as evil, as dangerous, as. . . I can barely say it. . . .  AS DISGUSTING! I really don’t see what people are missing, and with eight eyes, you would think that I have the vision part down. I have the same dream as all little girls, I want to meet a handsome male, and raise a family.

I have sent head shots to agents, and done auditions on reality shows, and at the best of times I was ignored. On the worst occasions I was chased out of the studio with a shoe. Once, I even caused Simon Scowl to shriek like a woman. He cowered behind his latest female co-host and wouldn’t come out until I had left the set. Sheesh! Some people. I am so depressed. I think I might get some work done. Maybe I will have my mark removed, it seems to cause a significant amount of distress. Maybe that will make people like me. Or, maybe my legs are too long, perhaps I could have a reduction. If I painted my body then I would look like everyone else. Then there is the problem of my body being too round, maybe I should try harder to be straight like those two leg walkers.

I walk over to the mirror, to imagine how these changes will look. I imagine I look like a sort of albino crab. Ick, that would be worse! What would great-great Grandmother Arachne think if she saw me behaving this way! She would say, “Anabella, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and be who you are!” She would be right. As I look in the mirror I stand up taller, I stretch my legs and look at them again. They are really quite graceful. Without my long legs I wouldn’t be able to dance so gracefully. I would bumble about. I looked at my round  body and think, “How could I spin beautiful webs without my full round body to make silk with?” I see my beauty mark and imagine it gone. I love my beauty mark though. Without it I would look like everyone else. At that thought I blink into the mirror again. That’s it! I really don’t want to look like anyone else. I don’t want to be anyone else. I just like me.

But what can I do?. . . I once met Tanne Webkin from the Museum of Modern Art. She had gushed about how wonderful my weaving’s were. She called them, “rare works of art.” I wonder if she would feature then in an exhibition. Maybe I will call it a Webtacular, . . .or maybe not. We can work on the name later! But it’s a start.

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