I’m fighting a war. A war against spiders. Every night before I go to bed, I check my sheets for them, slipper in hand, ready to brutally end their lives with way more force than necessary. Very rarely do I ever find one, and even if I kill it, I still cannot manage to fall asleep because it confirmed my fear that sometimes there are spiders waiting in my bed for me.

When I was younger, I used to pretend that I was not afraid of spiders. I was an odd child in my youth. Other girls did not seem to like me, so I only had friends who were boys. I had to look tough for them, otherwise, who else would I have rock fights with? Not being afraid of spiders made me feel awesome– kind of like I was braver than most people. If somebody called me out on a bluff, I would put on a brave face, along with my big-girl panties, and exterminate the poor sucker without letting my utter panic show through.

But I don’t pretend anymore.

Spiders are scary, and that is the universal truth. I HATE spiders. I hate them even more than cauliflower, aka the most disgusting and boring food in the face of this planet. Spiders are like little pieces of death wrapped in scary.

Sometimes, when I express my extreme feelings of hatred and terror towards spiders, someone will bring up the point that spiders have families too, like somehow, that will make me feel sympathetic and understanding towards spiders.

But that is exactly my point.

Spiders have families. Made up of other spiders. And those spiders have their own little spider families, each made up of a bonkzillion spiders. We should kill spiders because they have families, and stop a world-dominating infestation before it even happens.

When you squish a spider, you are doing all of man-kind a favor. So thank you to all spider-squishers for helping make this earth a better place. I salute you.