In the Spirit of Christmas, I am Declaring War

I am declaring war on spiders. And I am serious as a heart attack.

I once tried to make an agreement with a spider. I laid out the terms of him staying in my house, all of which I thought were reasonable. The fucker broke every single agreement. Lesson learned? Spiders cannot be trusted.

Second lesson learned? I am way too easy and forgiving. Well, I can tell you right here, right now, that is changing. There will be no mercy from Here. On. Out.

Last Saturday, D and I left the house on a small errand. As we're pulling out of the driveway, and the garage door is going down, I see, what? A spider dangling off of the garage door? I stop the door, pull up under it and see, what-the-fuck-is-that? Another motherfucking, goddamn black widow. Number what? Nine? In the last two years? I get out of the car, grab the can of Raid and spray her ass. She shrivels, then starts crawling up her little webby string. Spray. Crawl. Spray. Crawl. Spray. Crawl. Seriously? Die already, you fucking bitch!!!!! I got the shovel out and broke at least one of her legs. She still wasn't dead, but I was satisfied that eventually she would suffocate and, in the meantime, wouldn't get far with her two broken legs.

Nine days later, I'm home for lunch. After devouring the most delicious sandwich with the tastiest bread (thanks to Fiona), I'm on my way out the door when I see a spider. In my laundry room. On the fucking door. And, what? What is this? Oh, dear God, it's another fucking black widow. Must be a daughter of the one from the week before, because she was smaller. But just as resistant to Raid. Spray. Crawl. Spray. Crawl. Spray. Crawl. Finally she crawled into a little ball and I was on my merry way.

Today I was noticing the "cobwebs" in the corners of my bedroom. I investigated all corners of the house. I found a spider in the corner of my bedroom. Yes, my sanctuary. The room in which I sleep. The last place I want to be unconscious knowing that there are eight-legged creatures about. Spray. Crawl. Spray. Crawl. WTF??? Are you fucking kidding me???? It can't be. Spray. Spray. Spray. It finally curled up into a tiny little ball and I was able to move it to the sink. And, yes. There it was. Faint, but it was there. A small, reddish-brown spot on the abdomen. Mother-fucking black widows are taking over my house.

So, here it is. I am officially and resoundingly declaring war. Anything with eight legs is not allowed in my house and will die. No mercy. No questions asked.

Merry Fucking Christmas, arachnids.