an overly long letter to one who does not hear but only creeps. Yes, I am young but something*

Dear Spider,
In this, my postmortem address to you, I would like to go over a few things I could not explain before the consequences of my no-tolerance policy killed you.
You crossed the line tonight. You invaded my privacy in an act that mounted near sacrilege. You are not allowed near my bed, let alone on my bed. That boundary has been clearly drawn for all my 21.5 years. There has always been a rectangular area marked "bed" and the free space beyond that is marked "not bed." This should not be difficult for you to understand. I trust that since your species is still around you have evolved to develop some sort of intelligence.
We do not have the kind of relationship where you are welcome in my bed. We are neither married nor in love. Your little brown body does not seduce me and I do not find you to meet my qualifications for cuddly pet. I find you repugnant. So repugnant that I sent my roommate to deal with you. Yes, I called in a third party. I do not feel sorry for this drastic and impersonal action although I suppose I hope you rest in peace.
As ever,
Marge

Would you like to know that yours truly (Marge, in case you had any doubts) is carrying out her promise to classy-fy and paint towns red? I find myself brushing up my grammar (I worry about my comma usage and the placement of my prepositional phrases), watching to see if my blind date's flappy shirt cuffs will get in his food (I hate saying things like this that verge on criticism of a person's style, especially a boy who is taking me out, because of my theory of differing priorities and biting the hand that feeds you and other compassionate and mumbling reasons---THEREFORE it is not meant in a critical manner I just noted that my grandmother would have had similar feelings), contemplating the proper way to sit up straight and cross my legs (though I still die for a footrest tout le temps!*), and I am bestowing the status of "crush" as liberally as if it were noblesse oblige. ¡Viva!
That included too many words for a mini saga update.

*The last part of the title is in reference to a line from Macbeth that actually reads "...I am young; but something..." The semicolon giving an entirely different meaning (Vivian Bearing and I should have a party about that one).
The French means "all the time."