Chaz lived either right outside, right inside, or right under our front door. he loved to sing. very loudly. and very early in the morning. but Chaz was a shy cricket, so he never let himself be seen. however, a few of his friends and cousins were slightly more bold, and met their maker right after they met the bottom of my sandal.
(there was one super quick cricket who evaded me one morning as i tried to catch it under a glass in the master bedroom. it might have been Chaz, but i cant say for sure.)
last Monday morning, the first work day after the wedding, Chaz was singing in full force as i got ready in the morning. Mark, in his groggy half-awake morning grumble asked 'is that cricket always so loud?' and i said 'yes, he is' which just evoked another groan from Mark.
when i got home that afternoon, talking to my BFITW on the phone and juggling an armload of stuff, i opened the door to see Chaz himself scurry right under the very flip flop that had been the unfortunate end of so many of his friends. so of course the only logical response was to STOMP REPEATEDLY on said flip flop while screaming "Die Cricket! Die!" unneccesarily loudly. i then scraped his icky remains off of my sandal and onto the front porch. and that is how Chaz died.
when i told this story to my very pregnant friend from work, she proceeded to immediately google crickets to prove to me that they are good luck, and that it is considered bad luck to kill them. she told me that it was considered a blessing to have a cricket on your front porch and that google confirmed that in the Far East it was considered not just bad luck but very bad luck to kill crickets. i tried to explain to her that she had it backwards, and that being serenaded at 530 in the morning by a cricket was not what i would consider to be a blessing, and that i was much more blessed to have it gone.
also, i do not live in the Far East.
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