I have absolutely no idea what in Goddess’s name our creator was thinking when she made you! I would like to know what kind of fun intoxicants she was smoking when she did. “May I try some, Miss?” I imagine she was drawing shapes on a notepad, absentmindedly, trying to figure out what living concoctions she could make with a handful of eyes, legs, and fangs to torture the world with. The mosquito: a nuisance. The fire ant made of pain. The millipede and centipede: intriguing. I even respect the creative design of a Scorpion with its frightening stinger curled over his back.

But I can’t figure out what made the Creator think that 8 eyes and 8 legs were a good idea. I can almost hear the squeal of delight when she finished her surprising picture, along with the mischievous giggle as She poked and petted her new creature crawling about on her hand—the perfect handful of insect to provoke the fearful heebeejeebees in those poor walking humans.

Wait! Perhaps she didn’t create them. Perhaps, as one friend suggested, they are the alien beings that humanity has been searching for all of this time, small enough to be unsuspecting, fooling our naked, naïve eye with genetic material that seems similar and related to the other insects on Earth; and the ships made of the soft, white fuzzy material the housing and protecting the eggs within on its journey through space. Only the babies arrive on earth with supposed innocence of babyhood!

They walk the earth small and proud, trying to claim it for themselves. And they know they have the potential! Their creepiness gives them advantage, yet I wonder if they know they are creepy. Have they looked in the mirror yet? Picture their legs, only one up in the air at a time, but 8 little legs doing the work to maneuver these bodies across the plain. Tat-a-tat-tat-a-tat-a-tat! 8 little taps in a row, walking, running, and scurrying from here to there!

Though I hate them, I respect them as I do any living creature. I sidestep them when they walk my way. I politely ignore them when I get out of my car and see them hanging from their webs on the side of my home. I let the Daddy-Long-Legs roost in my house, giving them first pick to the other bugs that think to invade. I do my best to catch the others in a cup and put them outside. I mourn them for a few seconds when they have the misfortune of finding themselves mixed in with shower water.

But when they have the audacity to enter my room with enough stupidity to think they are welcome, they all fail to realize that they have entered a One-way Only zone towards the afterlife. I have no sympathy for those thick, brown arachnids—the ones that move too fast to catch—that think that my room will be a pleasant haven in their short little lives. I only have thoughts of painful deaths to the ones that think my bed shall be their resting place.

I do not appreciate lifting a piece of clothing from the end of my bed to put it away and see a brown, thick creep scurry from it towards one of my stuffed animals, and I assure you my roommate does not appreciate my scream of fear. He does not understand my fright. “You are a million times bigger than the spider,” he’ll say. “It is more afraid of you than you are of it.”

I highly doubt that.

It is not a pleasant experience, little spider, to have to chase you down with a Kleenex only to find it still clean, implying that I failed to squish you. And it is a great inconvenience to have to peel each piece of clothing off of my bed out to the living room, and brace myself for the very real possibility that you’ll come flying out onto my face; and to then have to take the pillows, my animals, and two bed throws—the leopard print colors giving you full ability to blend in with your surroundings—and do the same.

And because I did not find you, I had no choice but to empty a can of Raid and spray all around and underneath my bed. I am now banned from my own room because of the incredible Spring-Mist flavored fumes that will cause your legs to shrivel up into your body and perhaps you’ll find all the bugs and blood you want in Spider Heaven - all to ensure that you do not run me out of my room and force me to sleep in the living room tonight. In the dead of winter, it became imperative that I open the window and turn on the fan in order to alleviate the horrid smell of the means of your death.

Have I mentioned that I'm freezing?

I had to suffer a short heart attack from your sudden, chipper appearance, and am currently plagued with the shivers, and every quick itch, or movement of my hair makes me jump with the idea that you, Mr. Creepy, are upon my body. You are no longer fit to live. I refuse to be waked from my sleep with the feeling of 8 legs crawling up and down my leg, or worse—my face. I refuse to suffer your bite and risk the possibility of serious infection from your fangs.

It is now past my bedtime. I am tired. I am irritated. Creeped-out! “Why?” I ask the Creator above me. “Why the spiders!”

She walks away, shuddering within her rant, realizing however, that this spider has taught her a lesson: It would do her well to keep her bed clean, to put her clothes away each day at a time, instead of letting the pile grow during a weeks time.

Damn it!

=)