Bad Luck

Back in college I had a favorite journalism professor who walked into class one day with stitches. Journalism classes are a bit more relaxed than some other classes, an English Composition class, for instance. We students felt free enough to ask Mr. Stubblefield what happened to him to produce the stitches.

Turns out he killed a cricket. Which in some cultures is considered bad luck.

Evidently, a cricket got into my prof's home, and in his efforts to whack the bug, Mr. Stubblefield ended up injuring himself.

I remembered all this last night as I lay in bed listening to the incessant chirping of a cricket. An unwelcome guest in our home. One who has outstayed his welcome by about two weeks now.

Last week Spencer complained that the cricket's song was disturbing his sleep, but I figured that was all pish posh. I mean, seriously... a thorough nocturnal sweep of our home done by my husband determined that said cricket is indeed in the basement. One flight of stairs up is our living room, dining room, kitchen, half bath and den. We started shutting the door at the top of the stairs when the love-starved cricket's mating call disrupted our TiVo time in the den.

How, then, could my child hear the chirping when all our bedrooms are an entire floor above the main floor? Two floors away from the cricket?

So much for being a doubting Thomas.

Crickets don't normally bother me, so I don't normally kill them. I can even remember playing with the black field crickets when I was a kid (which I'm sure was an idea pitched by one of my brothers).

I do, however, become completely unglued at the sight of a camel cricket. They're gross. A face not even a mother can love, I'm sure, which is a pointless consideration because I'm positive the critters are blind. What other insect jumps right at you as you are trying to get away from it? Freaks! (Don't tell me spiders. Most of the time they're not jumping at you, but are simply caught in their own webs and are along for the ride as you hop, skip, jump and screech while trying to escape.)

But anyway, camel crickets don't chirp (found that out online). Coincidentally, this is more proof in my mind that they are blind. They don't even need to cut to a love song to attract a mate. They know they're ugly but because all their possible girlfriends are also ugly AND blind, none of them care. Why bother strumming a sensual tune if that's the best offer you're gonna get? Save your energy for hopping directly at the mother of the house the next time she's downstairs to get milk out of the extra fridge. Then tell all your possible conquests how high you made the mom jump, how fast you made her run and at what decibel you made her scream. Now that's the stuff you impress a female camel cricket with! If evolution were true, I'd expect that one day a camel cricket would be born with eyesight and thus ensure the extinction of the species.

Back to my cricket chirping problem.

I lost probably 20 minutes of much-needed sleep last night thanks to some dopey, puppy-dog-eyed cricket who just needs some lovin'.

Hear me now, Mr, Cricket: I am not sympathetic to your plight. Get a room! Preferably one of your own. Outside of my house. My home is not your bachelor pad! And the only safe sex you'll be having is going to be outside of my house.

Because while some people may think it's bad luck to kill crickets, I'm not one of 'em.

Let me tell you about bad luck.

It's bad luck to keep the Moody people from their sleep!!

Death to all crickets!