OUT OF CONTEXT: One man’s therapy is another man’s humor column

I am thoroughly convinced that the crickets at my house are either psychic … or plotting against me.

Or both.

The crickets have invaded my home and established a beachhead somewhere in my basement. They make occasional appearances — crawling slowly across the bathroom floor or hopping erratically down the hall.

They don’t bother me that much, but they do freak out my wife and daughter, who then call on me to “handle” the situation. This usually involves a tissue and the flushing of a toilet.

But lately, the crickets have begun chirping at night.

Late at night.

When I’m trying to sleep.

I get up and follow the chirping to where the sound is emanating, and then … it stops. As soon as I turn to leave, it starts again. But when I turn around, it stops.

This can go on for hours! Turn, silence, turn, chirp! Turn, silence, turn, chirp!

I know that the crickets know that I’m there to kill them. We’ve established that as the basis of our co-existence.

But now I suspect they’re fighting back with psychological warfare. And it’s working.

I go to bed with a box of Kleenex and a can of Raid.

Know what’s got a million Frenchmen up in arms? A Big Mac attack.

Story Continues →