Dear Black Widow Spider Living Under the Table by the Door,
We’ve been living together for a couple weeks now and, in general, I thought you were an okay roommate. You keep to yourself and clean up certain parts of the house that you use. That’s why I feel a little bad when I tell you that, when I get home from work today, you had better either be gone or ready to die.
I know that sounds harsh and you would be justified in asking what you did to make this sudden change in my attitude. I feel I owe you an explanation: we lived together so well because I never saw you. I opened the door, you scurried out of sight, and that worked for us. But last night when you displayed the perfectly-formed red hourglass on your, frankly enormous, belly I knew that our cohabitation was going to have to come to an end.
I’m giving you until the end of business because I really can’t ask it of Victor after his last traumatizing experience with bringing a shoe down on the pregnant tarantula in the bathroom who dropped all those hundreds of babies on the ground for him to smash. The poor guy may never smash a spider without sweating again. I hope that bitch is happy, wherever it is that spiders go when they die.
So, I hope there are no hard feelings and I wish you all the best in your relocation.
Sincerely,
Nell
