A Black Widow Lived in my Trash Bin, so I Dated a Butch Lesbian to Kill it For Me.

Every Wednesday night, I roll my garbage and recycling bins from my garage to the sidewalk for Thursday morning trash pick-up. Bringing the garbage out goes against my religion, but I live by myself, so I don’t have a choice. My garage doesn’t have electricity because it was built before electricity was invented, and my only source of light is my phone; thanks a lot, Steve Jobs. This one particular Wednesday night, everything was fine until I reached for the lid and saw her. A monster-sized Black Widow with a red hourglass on her abdomen parachuted down from under the lid. My entire life flashed before my eyes as she dangled from the exact spot I was about to put my hand as if to say, tisk tisk… this is my home now, so be a good girl and put your trash somewhere else.

I heard her message loud and clear; this was her garbage bin for the foreseeable future. I ran upstairs as fast as I could, shrieking the entire way, worried she was chasing me while also tripling, no, quadrupling in size. I could almost feel the thundering of her eight spider legs closing in on me, bang bang bang bang. Once I got back inside, I slammed the door in what I imagined to be her face and deadbolted it shut, just in case.

I shouted out, “Alexa, how fucking long is a Black Widow’s lifespan?” She answered…