Here’s the deal. I hate killing anything. Bugs, flowers, calories…it always depresses me so. It makes me think of the circle of life and life and death and blah blah blah.

Yesterday I did the unthinkable. I killed not one, but two spiders.

I know what you all are thinking, “Angela, they’re spiders. Get over it. If they were poisonous you could have been bitten and died or at least been very uncomfortable for a very few days.”

Here’s the situation though. I walked into the bathroom.  There was a baby spider. I smashed it with a Kleenex.

Then I thought to myself, “Angela, if there was a baby spider there, there’s probably going to be a mad mommy waiting for you somewhere.”

I pulled back the door. And there she was.

Ya’ll, I killed a baby spider in front of its momma.

I felt like the worst human being ever. How could I separate a mom from her baby.  So I did the only logical thing I could think of.

I killed the mom so she could be with her baby. 

I lamented to my mom about what I had done.  She said, “Angela, I’m pretty sure the mom spider has zero attachment to her baby. I don’t think spiders are capable of having feelings like that.”

The only problem with this theory is that the baby spider, let’s call it Arnold, was crawling towards where his mom was.  Like he needed her and she needed him.

I’m pretty sure spiders know what love is.

I guess they’re now loving each other in heaven.  I just hope she didn’t have a big litter. Or herd. Or flock. Or whatever it’s called.

In other news, I’ve officially lost it.

Ten-four. Over and out.