The Spider Man Mystery

"Mom, why do you want Spider Man's number?" my son asked me.

Glib as I am, I said, "What???"

He tipped his head and pointed in the general direction of my room and said, "You wanted Spider Man's phone number."

I said, "Huh?"

It was getting late, and this wasn't ringing any bells. Why would I want Spider Man's number? I mean the movies were okay, but really . . .

So my son marched me to my bathroom where, on my mirror, this note was taped.

"Oh," I said. "Yeah. I did write that." Just then I noticed the alteration. Funny. (Actually it was, but since I'd just shown about as much intelligence as a rock on the road, I decided to turn detective.)

"All right. Did you do that?" I pointed to the new word.

He raised his eyebrows. There was no mischievous glint. He was serious.

Now after a few years and a few kids, every mom depends on the inborn lie-detector gift that works approximately 69% of the time. The other 31% we flounder, and try to bluff our way into convincing our children that we have eyes in the back of our head. Under our hair. Really.

It's imperative that they believe.

But this was obvious. He was innocent. He threw his hands up in the air and said, "I just want to know why you want his number?"

I pointed to the crossed out word. "Spider Guy. The guy who sprays for spiders - like the one who sprayed at Grandma's. I want his number so he can get rid of every last creepy-crawly in a hundred-mile radius." (I'd seen one too many lately. And take my word for it. One is too many.)

"Oh," my son said. Then he turned and left.

So I spent the next few days asking each member of my family if they did it.

Surprise, surprise. No one did. There were several glints, but taking their ages and dispositions into account, it could have been pure delight in someone else's good joke - and the fact that I couldn't figure it out.

It was driving me a little crazy. Every child knows that moms DON'T like mysteries.

Still they happen all the time. Like those forever missing right shoes - where do they go? Or the main bathroom light left on and the faucet left dripping at three in the morning, which no one did. We call that perpetrator Casper the Ghost, probably like many of you.

So, this is getting way too long. I'll cut to the chase. I still don't know. The note's still up - because, hey, it's funny.

And if you happen to know Spider Man's number, by all means, pass it on. I'd love to have the last laugh.