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!