The Crickets Are Reading My Blog

They must know that I’m mocking them because this afternoon, I opened the door to find myself face to face with another cricket–this one hanging off the outer glass door. So, just to set the scene, there is my normal door and a glass door. And the cricket was on the inner pane of glass. A few inches from my face. When I opened my normal door.

I quickly slammed it shut and then wondered how I was going to work up the courage to get out to my car. Because, yes, I really am that scared of crickets. Even when they’re not in my hair. I called my mother–not because she could really do anything about it over the phone, but because I needed to know that someone else was in this with me.

About that time, I heard the school bus dropping off kids outside. So I mustered my last drop of courage (okay, my only drop) and threw open my normal door, threw open my glass door, and raced outside holding a fly swatter, slamming the normal door behind me so it couldn’t get into my house.

A little boy–we’ll call him Little Bastard Who Wants Me To Die a Slow, Agonizing Death From Fear-Induced Heart Attack Over the Aforementioned Cricket (or LBWWMTDASADFFIHAO TAC for short)–was walking towards me and I asked him to take the cricket off my door. And little brat–chock full of stranger danger stupid mottos–muttered that he didn’t like crickets either and kept walking. You’re a little boy! Your whole life is about disgusting things like crickets. You’re probably going to walk in your house and roll around in a big pile of crickets in three minutes anyway. Can’t you just help me, LBWWMTDASADFFIHAOTAC?

I called out to him, “you’re braver than I am!” because that’s how pathetic I was in the moment. Thirty-something woman standing on her front steps, trying to entice a small boy to remove a newborn cricket from her door (and yes, I really am more scared of it than it is of me). My purse and book bag were still in the house, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to live knowing it was still on my inner door (and able to slip inside). So I used the fly swatter to knock it away.

Of course, as luck would have it, it landed in the door crack. But I wouldn’t know this fact until I reopened my front door and it hopped inside with me. In a fit of panic, I stomped on it, screamed for two minutes, and flushed it down the toilet. Damn you, LBWWMTDASADFFIHAOTAC. Don’t I have enough stress in my life without having to kill my own crickets?

And no comments, Murray. You’re bringing the wrath of the crickets upon me!