Dear Mrs. Spider,
Let me begin my missive by telling you how much I appreciate your existence. I totally believe you have your place in this world. You do keep certain bugs away and you are a most creative creature. Your webs are works of art indeed! Depending on the light, they shimmer and shine. In the early morning due or after a light rain (not one so wild that it would destroy your oeuvre) is when your web positively sparkles! Yes indeed, you are truly appreciated.
I do, however, have issue with where you choose to weave… Must you absolutely, positively HAVE to do it right between the plants and trees I NEED to walk through to get my lovely heirloom tomatoes? Could you not choose, say, between a tree and the house, far away from the steps I must take?
Yes, yes, I know I could go through my patio doors (as I did to take the first picture above) but these doors are, quite frankly, a pain in the ass to open, especially when it is only to collect a handful of cherry tomatoes for my lunch. Plus, I usually forget they are there as the dining room is not often used in the summer.
It wouldn’t be so bad if I always saw your “abode” – but even then, I cannot pass by without having to destroy at least one side of it, which is a shame, really; you need to renovate each and every time. No, it’s those times when the sleep is still glueing my eyes shut that I just plow right through, having totally forgotten your existence that truly bother me. UGH!!!
The Only thing worse about you having to rebuild, or re-weave? The feeling of cobwebs all over my skin and hair. I then spend the next 10-15 minutes shaking my hair out and rubbing myself trying to ensure that YOU are not stuck to me as well!!!
It’s not that I’m frightened of you per se; I just don’t enjoy the sensation of having something crawling over me. You have such power over me that as I write this, I feel you all over me!
So I ask this of you, dear Mrs. Spider, when I go out later and destroy your latest creation, please do not come back to rebuild in the same place! I will do my utmost to choose a more satisfactory location; one far from us two-footed beasts, most of whom have nary a care for the serious work you do.
I do apologise in advance that I cannot save your web and do wish you a long and fruitful life doing your spidery things.