Passive Aggressive Notes to My Roommate: Spider Edition

Dear Roommate,

I am not sure how you persuaded me to come into the bathroom with you to “check out this HUGE spider in the garbage can” (I assume voodoo), but I would like to ask you to STOP IT, because I am permanently traumatized.

That spider was so huge that in spite of the fact that I knew it would be there, I screamed anyway. You pulled like 4 Kleenex out of the box to kill that spider. I would have tried the elephant gun first. Ok, that is not true because I would have just screamed and ran away. Also I don’t have an elephant gun.

Every morning I make my bed even though I am blind, deaf, and dumb until after I’ve showered and eaten. And do you know why, dear roommate? It is not because I’m OCD and must control my environment; no, it is because then spiders cannot get into my bed and lie in wait for me.

That spider was so huge that it crawls into my bed, reads my comics, and watches HGTV in my bath robe, then makes the bed again and leaves. So huge that it probably squeezes into the sexiest of my unmentionables and prances around like a pony, taking sassy pictures of itself then posts them on craigslist, because spiders are filthy kinky bastards like that.

So, in conclusion, the next time you see a spider the size of a heifer, just kill it and don’t even tell me it was ever there.

Definitely do not follow me into the living room and tell me that you killed another one upstairs already.

XOXO,
q.