** What goes on in the minds of wolf spiders?
I’m asking for a friend. Seriously.
Ok, not really. I’m asking for myself because I’ve got a vested interest. I think there’s a spider hit out on me. Last night, I was jumped by a spider whose total circumference (legs and all) was larger than the palm of my hand. I have the scars (a badly scraped knee in two places) to show for my close encounter.
It ended with another bit of arachnocide. Score: two for Brenda, zero for spiders.
**[Trigger Warning for arachnophobes.]**
There were clear ground rules. After your untimely “accident” in your makeshift shower, I found the copy you signed with your eight legs. (Or, were they arms?)
1. No visitors after dark. Translation: I knew you were out to get me.
Was it your brother I heard with you in your room? Maybe it was your cousin. I knew I heard more than one octuple set of feet in your room.
2. Communal spaces are for everyone. Translation: you shouldn’t have given the floorplan to the assassin on your payroll.
I wasn’t planning on anyone being harmed when we agreed to be roommates. It’s not fair that you had a contingency plan when I didn’t.
I thought I kept seeing a bit of movement around corners and in rooms. Your assassin’s charge across the living room at me failed. Ha! I move quick when I need to.
Not my fault my boyfriend rightfully thought your assassin was an intruder and handled business. Again.
3. Open communication.
In keeping with the enmity your people have shown me in this attempt on my life, I will poison your old neighborhood. I hope your whole family dies – cousins and all. I even cancelled the check I had sent earlier to National Wildlife Federation in your name.
Translation: I’m not at all sorry that you and your hired assassin (aka cousin) are dead.
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