Friday, March 16, 2012

Open letter to the jerk who gave me a heart attack.

Dear Scary Hairy Spider,

I have made every effort to respect your personal space. I have only squashed those members of your family who truly deserved it. You know, the ones who think it's funny to sneak up on me while I'm peeing or driving. That's not even personal. That's just good safety.

I never enter your designated living spaces, otherwise known as the spider cubby, the wood pile, the attic and the shed. I feel like I have gone above and beyond in order to accommodate you. Except for that one time when I got a little overzealous with the hair spray and my Weight Watchers magazine.

The point is, I have been nothing but respectfully fearful of you and your horde of evil minions. So, you can imagine my surprise when you so blatantly crossed the line tonight.

I will tolerate a lot of things, buddy, but this? This is inexcusable. You really think you can just come into my bed uninvited and stroll across my chest like you own the place?! The nerve!

When I am playing mahjong in my pjs, I am off limits. Even MB knows this. Although, he doesn't seem to know that screaming at the top of my lungs, flailing about and projectiling my kindle across the room in a fit of panic is, in fact the appropriate response to a surprise spider invasion. He also doesn't seem to know that it is not funny when the puppy proceeds to respond to said flailing by jumping on me and scratching up my arms with his talons of doom. However, that is none of your concern.

You need only concern yourself with the pending war I will be waging against you and yours. Boundaries have been crossed and the consequences will be ugly, my friend. Much uglier than your inbred cousin who met his demise in my shower left week. Yeah. That was me. And that's only the beginning.

It's on, buddy. It. Is. On.

The crazy bitch with a cabinet full of spider killing aerosols and nothing to lose.

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