I am writing to you to inform you that laundry operations in our home have ceased until further notice.
Should you wish for me, your loving wife, to resume washing our unmentionables, you need to don your Spider Killer weapons and search and destroy the ginormous creature (bordering on carcass!) that was stalking me this morning in the laundry room.
This thing, kid you not, far surpasses in size any of the individual specimens in the herd of spiders I rustled up in mom's yard that one day, and even dwarfs the infamous bathtub spider of 2007 which completely gave us the shivers some months ago. If the bathtub spider was, say, comparable to a Buick LeSabre, which is to say, large enough for all practical purposes, than the one in the laundry room is a Hummer. And not one of those wimpy H3s; this sucker is the real deal.
After you left to go work out this morning, I went to the laundry room to put a load in. I had this weird feeling while I was down there; I felt like I was being watched. I turned at one point, thinking maybe I would see Michael Meyers, but instead saw something even more horrifying: the largest spider I've ever seen inside but not in zoo just hanging out on a beam above my head.
It being a wolf spider, a ground dweller based on the research I have done (know thy enemies!), I have a feeling it is not long for its lofty perch and will venture downward where it will lurk behind or in a clothes basket and scurry across my foot the next time I do down there, which will surely cause my heart to stop.
So, if you love me, if those vows you took 11 years ago to honor and obey mean anything to you, you will smoke this spider out of its hole and kill it for me. It was out of reach of any weapon this morning, plus you and I both know I cannot kill a spider that big; the best I can do is scream like a little girl and curl up in a fetal position a safe distance away. If you can't find it when you come home today...make some calls. Call Orkin, call Terminex, call Colin Powell if you have to. But I am not going in that room until you have found this thing dead or alive. Preferably very, very dead.
And don't just think of me...think of the horrifying fact that we have clothes down there, clothes which a spider might find cozy.
And finally, think of containment. Do you really want to leave this thing down there where it could eventually wander out into the habitable areas of our home?
So, Jason, please be my Marlboro Man, my Bubba, my knight in shining armor, and slay this beast, or at the very least lasso it up and ride it off into the sunset.
In the meantime, I will be sleeping with a can of Raid.
Like cryptonite to Superman, like Newman to Jerry...this is what spiders are to me.