how attempts to maintain my professional gravitas are undermined by the oddest things.

I am sitting in a meeting with colleagues gathered from around the nation discussing issues of great national import - namely improving the federal disaster response system. We are about to embark on 3 intense days of meeting with another Federal agency to identify issues and recommend a course of action to resolve problems that hamper efficient delivery of essential aid to the citizens of the United States.

In my usual way, I've asked (what I think are) probing questions to dive beneath the superficialities of some of the problem solving and analysis. And, as the end of the day's meeting is drawing near, I've decided to remain quiet for the last 15 minutes.

I feel something tickle my neck and I think that the tickling sensation was caused by the cord of my USB flash memory drive that I am wearing around my neck (in true geek fashion). I twitch and happen to look across the room at Allan.

Allan, who happens to look a lot like Kenny Rogers, raises his hand, wriggles his fingers and mouths the word "S-P-I-D-E-R" to me.

I shoot back a puzzled look and Allan wriggles his fingers to mimic a crawly creature and mouths the word "S-P-I-D-E-R" to me again. He's looking a little amused but mostly sincere.

I wasn't sure whether to believe him or not because some of the "old-timers" like Allan enjoy practical jokes at times. But I look down and don't see anything on my shirt. And then I think....maybe I should look elsewhere.

So, with my back towards most of the room (I'm sitting in the SECOND row of this meeting) I stretch the neck of my t-shirt away from me to take a surreptitious peek down the front of my shirt.

And yes, there is a S-P-I-D-E-R sauntering towards....my bellybutton.

In a flash, I bolt out of my seat and out of the room. I'm jumping and wriggling and shaking out my t-shirt in the hallway of the hotel.

And, I'm also waiting. Murmurs (of explanation) are coming from the meeting room that I just fled and within 10 seconds...a roar of laughter. The spider emerges on my left hip and I flick him to the ground and let the bastard live. Now, I have to return to the room where I'm greeted with another roar of laughter.

I grin (and probably blush) and take my seat again. Most people thought I had just gotten sick of being in the meeting as I was not getting my questions answered and had decided to leave. (Actually, that urge came over me several hours prior.) Of course, now people I don't even know have started greeting me with the name of SPIDERWOMAN.

What you have read is a truthful account of how attempts to maintain my professional gravitas are undermined by the oddest things.