Boobs of Doom

published on Mar 20, 2020

CATEGORIZED AS: Nature | Spirituality

I was bitten by a spider today. I expect superpowers any minute.

Tiny superpowers, because the spider was tiny.

But I expect them in my boobs, because that is where I was bitten.

Ever since I befriended the spiders, they appear everywhere I go, no matter what time of year. They're everywhere in my life and I welcome them.

This one, today, showed up in my cleavage. I'm not sure, but I think it must have fallen there. It was in imminent danger of being smooshed.

Now I don't want to brag, but my boobs are excellent smooshers of tiny soft things like little bulbous spiders.

But because the spider notified me with a bite, I noticed it and was able to assist it in escaping from the boobs of doom.

Which is now my name for my breasts forevermore.

Spiders get a bad rap because people often assume that bites from much more noxious critters are spider bites. But in most of the US there are only a couple dangerous spider species and the bites of most others are completely innocuous.

This one was just a little nip and there is no sign it ever happened, other than the absence of a spider corpse trapped between the boobs of doom.

I might, however, have reacted to the bite with anger and unleashed upon the spider the wrath of the boobs of doom. Had I so chosen.

But here's the thing. A bite, a nip, a snarl, a pinch. These are very often the defense mechanisms of small and frightened things. They are last-resort communications.

So also other types of pain.

Pain is an excellent communicator. Nothing gets attention quite so quickly. That's literally its job. To get attention quickly so we can adjust and avoid more serious consequences.

Sometimes, little frightened things use little jolts of pain. Sometimes big things use big jolts of pain.

What if the coronavirus situation is mother Earth signaling to us. What if she's trying to communicate with us in the fastest, most expedient way. What if she is trapped in our boobs of doom, wherein "boobs of doom" means "insatiable thirst for more more more," and she's letting us know we gotta let her out before she becomes a corpse trapped in our cleavage.

Look, once you lose control of your metaphor you may as well just let it go feral.

Anyway. I got bitten by a spider today and I guess I did get a superpower from it. I now have boobs of doom.

So. You know. Beware.

Also, do not despair. Be patient. Something new is coming. Rest and listen and be good to yourself, and try not to trap spiders in your bra.

#sageadvice #myworkisdone #goodnight

Finally, if you're wondering why the feature image on this post is a pair of gorgeous, soft-petalled violets, it's because you don't get boobs, internet. You can't be trusted with boobs. Go to your room and think about what you have done and maybe one day you will get to have boobs again.

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Fen Druadìn

Fen Druadìn (they/them) is a storyteller, a visionary, and a book midwife.

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