3 confessions to the spider

Dear spiders,
I know that you know how much I dislike you.  I think I have made myself very clear.  I arranged for our place to be sprayed to kill you.  I smoosh even the cutest baby spider on contact.  I will sometimes yell at you out of anger when you surprise me.  But I must confess a few instances where I have held off on my killing quest.

1 - Spiders that live in my tomato plants:  I spend quite a bit of time lately trying pick all my tiny tomatoes.  Sometimes, as I am picking, I will see that you have built your web close to the ground around some beautifully red tomatoes.  In such a case, I leave you be.  I don't really need those tomatoes, I think.  I am even so kind that if I am picking a beautiful tomato higher up and it falls to the ground beneath a shroud of tomato green, I will let it go - cause it's gone.  It is just not worth it to me to stick my hand into such a place.  I've seen enough episodes of the Deadly Dozen to know not to do that.

2 - Dear spider that is taking over the 4th step outside my door: I don't know why I have let you continue to expand your web across my stairwell.  I have seen you jump back into the corner of your web when I step outside and slam my door behind me.  I'm sorry to disappoint you, as you probably thought you were successfully hiding from me.  Be assured that I know you are there.  I also suspect that you are black widow.  You are different from the spiders that enter my house.  You stay in your web and you are jet black and spindly.  Maybe I left you because I wasn't sure how best to kill you.  Or maybe I figured you would meet your end when the spider spray man waved his wand at you.  And sure enough, ever since then, your web has been empty.  RIP, little one.

3 - To the basketball playing spider:  I wish you had just stayed in Australia where you belong.  What are the chances that you would be on the very pair of basketball shorts that I picked up at the athletic store yesterday?  I saw you quickly and put the shorts back but then had to take a closer look at you to see if you were a black widow.  But your red was a stripe on top of your abdomen instead of an hourglass shape on the underside.  I am ashamed to say that I left you there on that pair of shorts on the rack for the next unsuspecting person to find.  When I discovered that you are a poisonous spider in Australia, I called the store to let them know what I had seen.  The girl responded with: "what do you want me to do about it?".  I should warn you that they may be coming for you - but it doesn't seem likely.