Our family moved to a new town when I was a sophomore in high school. It was the middle of August, and our home hadn't been lived in for several months. The house was quite clean, but we did have one problem; crickets. They were everywhere. It was so bad that I slept on the kitchen counter that first night.
I'm not a fan of spiders and bugs, but I can usually handle the removal of them. If I see a cricket, though, I run for cover and stand on the nearest chair
I know my fear of crickets is silly. They don't bite and they can't hurt you. Even so, they drive me crazy. Crickets are awful; they make horrible noises, invade your home, and well, I won't elaborate on what happens when you step on them. I'd ride on an angry bull before I would welcome a cricket into our home. That's saying something for a woman who's scared to drive on the interstate.
So, today, when I picked Murray up from daycare, he and his pals were very excited about the grasshoppers that they had caught - I can do grasshoppers (I know, no rationality here) so I went to have a look.
Grasshoppers would have been acceptable, only they weren't grasshoppers, they were crickets.
Yes, they were CRICKETS. Our nephew was squeezing them, and Murray had one hopping all over his hand. It took a lot of courage to be brave and say, "Wow, those are really neat!" especially without swearing like a sailor.
I have the willies just thinking about it.