I am not one for enjoying the company of crickets. They hop and are unpredictable. I know their main goal in life is to land on me and get a quick trip to another location as I run madly while screaming. A siren filled ride, so to speak. Me yelling, them clinging tenaciously to my . . . whatever they hopped onto.
I mention this because yesterday we had no school (work) because God sent the 40 days/40 nights of rain in one day to our area. (How did Noah STAND it?? Was there depression back then? Any grumbling on the Ark?) It rained, rained, rained, rained, rained!!!! At one point I looked out and saw the carport was flooding and probably . . . let me go check . . . the utility room attached to the carport. Yes, it was beginning to flood. All those moving boxes I had yet to unpack were beginning to get wet. So I got my son to come help me move them. He moved them into the house! Nooooo……….. That’s NOT what I wanted. Just put them all up higher!!! On what? On the boxes on the bottom . . . But then the bottom boxes would get wet. Ok. I saw his point and in he brought box, after box, after box until my house looks like a maze. Narrow paths between these boxes. Then while I cooked dinner, I started unpacking one in the kitchen so I could turn around while cooking. It had the biggest, juiciest (fat?) cricket in it I have ever seen. Legs like a granddaddy long leg . . . And he hopped! I threatened to quit cooking. NEVER cook again with that creature in my kitchen. So my son came into the kitchen and instead of killing it, took the box (and the cricket) into another room.
Now, I’m not going to say I have a cricket phobia, although I do, but something has got to GO. I think I will find a one bedroom apartment and move there. I’m currently playing a game with myself as to how many crickets do I guess THAT box has in it? There are at least 30 boxes.