2:40 AM, sitting here writing, minding my OWN business and what “appears” next to me on the wall? A cricket the size of Phoenix! Why are bugs so big in Arizona? Had it been your standard little Michigan-size cricket – no problem! Several pairs of shoes happen to be under my desk. (Don’t judge me.)

But no such luck. This cricket was large enough to register for kindergarten. It heard me gasp, and turned its head to give me a look of disdain.

Oh, really Mr. Cricket? Fine!

Time to wake the mister, who looked at me and jumped out of bed. I may or may not have been mildly hysterical.

Mister: What? What’s wrong, Fle??
Me: *Pointing* In there!!!
Mister: WHAT?
Me: *Still pointing* ON THE WALL!!!

He walks into the room…right up to wall.

Mister: Oh. It’s a cricket. *Looks at ME* How did he get in here?
Me: I don’t know, Dennis…he caught an Uber over for coffee? KILL IT!

Now, you would think after nearly thirty-three years of marriage, I’d know better and kill bugs on my own, but apparently I never learn. Because true to form, Mr. Humanitarian goes ALL THE WAY TO THE KITCHEN to get a bowl and lid. (Because the cricket will jump. *Eye roll*)

He returns, passing me in the hallway…because that’s where I was safe…and proceeds with his plan of ‘catch and release’, and, OF COURSE, the cricket jumps away! I can see it from my strategic vantage point of twenty-five feet away. And, of course, Mr. Cricket jumps BEHIND the desk.

Me: Oh, great! Why didn’t you just smash it?
Mister: Calm down! You could have smashed it too and I’d still be asleep.
Me: Nope.

He’s peering behind the desk like he’s sightseeing. Ugh!

Me: Now you have to kill it!

Without waiting for the snarky comment I know is coming, this time, I go to the kitchen…for the mega-sized bottle of Home Defense, and take it to him. (I was helpful despite my trauma.)

The mister proceeds to spray AROUND the desk like he’s building a force field. Not a bad idea for spiders, but it’s a cricket. They jump. I witnessed it.

Me: Why are you spraying there? Spray BEHIND the desk!
Mister: Do you wanna do it?
Me: Nope.

After soaking the cricket (and the carpet) with enough spray for Michael Phelps to swim through and win yet another gold medal, the mister pronounces the cricket dead.

My spidey-senses may not be as sharp for crickets, but I didn’t feel the calm that comes with bug-death. (However, I was feeling the dizziness that comes from inhaling excessive bug spray fumes.) I walked over to the desk and moved the bulletin board, and there it was! Mr. Cricket trying to schlep away from the scene! Despite the fact the mister was standing right next to me, I felt the need to scream out, “THERE IT IS!!!” Giving me a side-eye glance, the mister started to use the spray, but stopped and instead grabbed one of my black sandals – the cute ones with the crystals across the bridge – and smashed the cricket.

Grabbing the bottle of bug spray, the mister is heading for the door, actually leaving me with a smashed cricket on the floor, and bug slime on my cute black sandals with the crystals across the bridge. I grab a tissue and hold it out to him, and after tossing me ANOTHER side-eye glance (that’s two – I’m keeping count) he picks up the evil, but dead cricket.

But then…THEN…he tries to toss the tissue holding the dead cricket carcass into MY trashcan!!! Dude! Seriously? Did you just meet me? So not happening! With a huff of disgust, he goes to the kitchen to dispose of that…thing. I hear him putting things away while I do a quick reconnaissance to make sure there wasn’t a weekly cricket meeting or cricket family reunion happening, and other vermin are lurking about.

Calmly, (finally) I sit down again and realize I have no clue what I’m supposed to be writing about. There was a scene…a confrontation…many, many words were said…someone was really angry. Geeze, just like that, Mr. Cricket has wiped the scene I was eager to write from my mind. Now I must browse Pinterest and drink large amounts of coffee until the scene plays out in my mind again. Damn cricket!

The mister passes by on his way back to bed, I throw out a cheerful, “Thank you! Good night!” He mumbles something unintelligible under his breath.

Me: Remember, the vow’s said ‘for better or worse’, and there’s nothing worse than bugs!

Mister: Yes, there is. A wife with an irrational fear of bugs!

Irrational? REALLY? The vegetable in today’s dinner just got switched from the corn he loves…to the broccoli he loathes.

How’s that for irrational?