You know what’s worse than lying there, not being able to fall asleep – when you should damn well be tired enough? Lying there, not being able to sleep – when you should damn well be tired enough – but you can’t because of a stupid effing cricket. Clearly it’s in the laundry room, which backs up to our master bedroom. But every time I open the door to look for his little ass, he shuts up.
So you end up sitting there in the dark, flashlight in hand, waiting for him to speak up. Sitting on the cold tile floor, waiting like a ninja. Or, ooh-ooh a Green Beret! And he never chirps again. I know he must be under the dryer, but I don’t even want to go into how much of an anathema that is. There’s no room in my laundry room to move the dryer unless I disconnect the washer and move it out first. So I have to live with the chirping?
Hell no! I fight back against rebel crickets.
So I swung a coat hanger under there, making sure I banged it up against the feet of the dryer. You know, just to make sure I had gotten under there as far as I could. He didn’t get swooped out into the open. Though I did find several guitar picks, some fries and pennies, and a pen cap or two. Hello, pen cap. I’ve been looking for you. And who’s not happy to be back in touch with those dusty pennies? Oh, and of course, I can toss the old fry over to Daisy and let her have a little midnight snack. Who’s a good owner?
I never did find the cricket, but ended up opting instead to use the old cover-the-head-with-a-pillow trick. It’s pretty simple, really – you just sort of cover your head with a pillow. Then I start hearing this new breed of grasshoppers outside my window. Have you heard them? They’re like ultra-high-pitch and it sends you into a rage because they’re relentless? You know the ones? Never heard them before in my life. They just started showing up around my house this year. What, you little cobblers can’t do that shit during the day? Don’t you have some grass to hop around in or something? Seriously.
The only thing worse is when Kit puts his shitty speakers on his roof and blasts Skynnyrd into the night while I’m trying to sleep. The old cover-your-head-with-a-pillow trick doesn’t work that well on those nights. I usually have to resort to the old favorite sleep-on-the-couch trick.
Anyway, I was once a grasshopper supporter. Remember my old column Save the Grasshoppers? Where I begged people to stop mowing until they’ve cleared the yards out? Yeah. Well all bets are off now. I wasn’t including this new breed of high-pitch bastards. I’m about to commit major insecticide around the Spacey house. I suggest you do the same.