Everything is going fine, night has fallen, I am standing by
the sink about to brush my teeth, and then I see it: a tiny
being, no bigger than a fingernail; a little, looming being quite like
the hay of a miniature broom. It is unintimidating enough-- I can carry on

my daily rituals. I can easily avoid contact with such a minor spider, put
it out of my mind; I can even find it cute, if I put my mind to it.
And then I see its mother: a monstrous thing with legs the length
of a redwood tree and a body the size of a letter o written in

small print. It is nearly morning, I must go to sleep, but how can I
brush my teeth with this monster beside me? I cannot kill it.
I would love to say this is for moral reasons, but no-- to kill a spider is
to touch it, if only through a paper towel. And I cannot touch

a spider. I couldn’t bear the crunch of its exoskeleton in my palm.
I am defenseless against this beast much greater than myself.
The thought of its spindly legs brushing against my unguarded skin!
The very thought could drive me to madness.

I cannot brush my teeth, I cannot shower, I cannot sleep. To go
to bed unwashed is a sin. One must wash thoroughly every evening
to rid oneself of the day’s profanities. Besides, if there is a spider
beneath the sink, there could be one beneath the mattress, in the

space between the bed and the wall, behind my dresser, waiting to
crawl all over me, to crawl down my throat and spin a web
inside of me, make its home inside of me until it dies and I cough
up shriveled arachnid remains. This is what will happen if I

go to sleep tonight, or ever again. I will rot and become but
a nest for the spiders. This is my fate. I must avoid it for
as long as I can: never sleep within three feet of a spider,
wash thoroughly every night (to rid myself of sin, which is

spiderlike in nature), fall asleep at a reasonable hour (for I
never see spiders at a reasonable hour, nor when I am asleep).