To Spiders

When I was younger, I'd cower in the corner while my dad disposed of you.

As I got older, I could catch you with a tissue and flush you down the toilet myself.

When I went on my mission, I developed a higher tolerance for you.

My new motto: "if you can't see the spider from the other side of the room, it may live."

I even let one of you live on the ceiling in my apartment because you would catch so many flies. That is, until we realized there were a bunch of smaller dots surrounding you--aka your dozens of babies.

When I came back from my mission, my tolerance lowered again.

In the past few months, Matt has killed most of you.

And you have been FAT. I mean, disgustingly fat. 

Which makes me wonder: Were you born that way? 

Or are you that fat because you've eaten so many other things that we wouldn't want to see?

If the former, I hope we've killed you before you could reproduce.

If the latter, then thank you for disposing of unwanted insects (or other spiders?)

Rhetorically,

Rebekah