On Saturday morning last, I was enjoying the quite. Nelson had taken the boys down to his parents for the weekend; I'd had dinner and drinks with friends the night before; I had a frittata cooking in the kitchen for brunch with friends. I'd decided I'd be fashion forward and wear my white pants to brunch and was feeling quite smug about it.
I was folding some laundry in my beautiful, sunny living room. The laundry had been sitting in my basement for two or three days, waiting patiently, and I finally had a moment. I could smell the frittata - almost done. I yanked the last shirt from the laundry. It was one of Nelson's work shirts - long sleeves, button down. I shook it to get out some of the wrinkles, and something fell onto my lap.
Now, it's not entirely surprising that something would fall onto my lap from the clean laundry. I'm notoriously bad at checking pockets before I wash clothing, so things fall out all the time. I'm always washing grocery lists, receipts, money, business cards, appointment cards, memory sticks (sorry, Nelson). There is almost always some kind of detritus in my clean clothes.
So, things falling out of my laundry onto my lap = not surprising. I had no idea what had fallen on to my lap, but my subconscious kicked in and sent my heart racing and adrenaline flowing and my hand flinging what ever it was on my lap and onto the floor. I didn't know what it was, but my body was automatically reacting and my brain had not caught up. It was like it was spinning through my memory files trying the place the thing. What are you, thing?
As I brushed it away, this thing that my body into panic mode but was not immediately identifiable, it moved. IT FUCKING MOVED. No, it jumped. It landed about four feet away.
It was a goddamn camel cricket, aka the spawn of Satan. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you need to click that link right and and go see the ugly bastards for yourself. They are horrific. You may know them as sprikets, spider crikets, jumping crickets. They are some big, ugly em effers. And they jump super high and super far. And because of their terrible vision, they JUMP AT predators (i.e., me) instead of jumping away. Also, they eat their own limbs. They are nasty. The don't bite and aren't particularly harmful or damaging, except to your eyes because of their hideousness and your heart when they try to attack you and give you palpitations.
When Nelson and I lived in our little 400 square foot basement apartment, the place was infested with them. they were everywhere, and we could not get rid of these awful, hideous, attacking crickets. I was afraid to open cabinets because the bastards would launch themselves at me. If I got up in the middle of the night, I would see them, covering the kitchen floor. COVERING it.
I had nightmares about them. There were just so many more crickets than there were of us. We put out these glue traps to capture them and the traps would be covered every mornings. It was so terrible, you guys. Definitely one of the worse parts about living in that apartment. There was also a rat situation there, but I'll save that for another time (Amy, you'll love that one.)
So, back to present day. That little bastard was just sitting there in my beautiful, sunny living room, waiting to attack me and then hop away and lie in wait in some dark corner to terrify me again. Well, folks, I wasn't having any of that.
They have terrible vision, so I skirted around the side of him and into the dining room. I then took off my flip flop and crept right up on that nasty bastard and squashed the shit of out him. There was a satisfying crunch and a gooey, blood mess in my living room, but he's dead, dead, dead and I'm feeling more than a little vindicated.