My Arch-Enemy: The Spider

I love my apartment. A lot. It has two very large windows in the living room that let in a great deal of natural light (albeit at the expense of privacy - let me tell you something, when you live alone, you walk around naked a lot. Having two huge windows that look out on the street make me something short of an exhibitionist). It's in a great location, with lots of trees and bushes and plants. Wildlife abounds. Everything from stray cats to coyotes, to annoying crows, to spiders. And it is with this last group that I have issues.

My windows overlook what is essentially a small deck. The deck lies above the sidewalk, connected by a short set of steps, perhaps 7 in total. The landscaping on the embankment includes a few large bushes, some big rocks, and five small yet thick evergreen trees. On the other side of the steps are more bushes and a tree with expansive branches. Somewhere amidst all this vegetation is a sign that says "Welcome all Starving Spiders," because there are at any given time upwards of 50 spider webs in the trees and bushes.

Now what angers me is not that spiders make webs in the area. I'm fine with that. But I hate walking through spider webs. It is one of those minor idiosyncratic things that makes me angry. Much like I can handle being in crowds, but my Dad can't. He can handle walking through spider webs, I cannot. So I hate them. And I hate the spiders that make the webs that I walk through.

This past weekend, as I was returning home from the gym, I reached my breaking point. For the past week and a half, I've been dealing with this stupid spider. This one particular spider has decided that the best location for his/her web is across the stairs. If I can paint a picture with words, and clearly I can't, the web is basically in the area that receives the highest amount of human traffic. I walk through that particular spot at least once a day, probably more like 5 times a day. And nearly every time, I walk through the stupid web. As summer goes along, I become more aware and stop to look before I pass through, destroying the web if need be. I've now destroyed the web six times this month. And each time, the stupid thing gets rebuilt.

There is only one answer, only one logical solution to this problem. That spider has to die. I need to make an example of him. I need to stab him, dismember him, and hang him in a bush for all his little spider friends to see. And they will know that I am not a man with which to be trifled (awesome work on my part not ending that sentence in a preposition). Seriously. This spider must die. What is it about this guy that he thinks he can succeed in this struggle? Every day I destroy his web. It is his life's work. Every day he has the persistence to rebuild it. But at some point, he will give up. With that kind of useless persistence, I will name the spider John (after John Kerry). He must give up. He must be defeated. He will eventually starve to death, or move to another location. Either result is acceptable. John must Die.

Death to John.