I’ve been living with headphones on for the last week or so, all because of a displaced cicada.
I know what cicadas sound like, okay? I’m swear I’m not an idiot, and I’ve heard them before. I needed to get that off my chest so that you’ll understand how frustrating it was when I kept hearing this high-pitched trill, and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with my laptop – because it doesn’t sound like anything that would come from nature. I eventually stood up and walked away to escape the sound – which was drilling into my brain and stirring up a migraine – but it got louder the closer I got to my front window. Wut?
Called Offspring down to verify, and he barely hit the bottom of the stairs before exclaiming “What the hell is that noise?”
We investigated a bit, poking around for the source. It sounded like absolutely nothing we’d heard before; cicadas were briefly considered as a possibility and rejected because this was very high and shrill, and the cicadas up here make a deeper, oscillating rattle. Offspring eventually determined that it must be a baby cicada (I wasn’t buying this for a moment, but with my earplugs in I felt I wasn’t really in a position to argue) and I sent him out to water the fuck out of the bush in front of that window in order to drown the li’l bastard. Which only worked as long as the water was running.
Husband, by the way, “can barely hear the sound, if he strains and tunes in to it.”
You’re not buying that, are you? Clearly, he’s just building his defense for the next time he wants to claim he didn’t hear me ask him to do something.
After some quality time spent with the internet, I have determined the following:
- This sad little cicada is in way the wrong place. He’s supposed to be way south and somewhere a hell of a lot dryer.
- People have actually recorded the songs of various cicada species and posted them on the internet, for reasons I cannot fathom.
- I’m probably not watering my lawn enough, because he hasn’t clued in and moved on.
- He’s going to continue to sing until he finds a girlfriend or dies. Since there are no others of his kind around here, I’m stuck with this operatic bastard until the end of his natural life span.
- I’m not actually super-mad at this poor little dude. I miss the desert too, and I’m sure he’s no less miserable than I am in this humidity. Maybe I should stop watering altogether?
Okay, enough about the cicada, because he’s not the actual point. I just really needed to explain about him, because I’m developing a semi-permanent dent in my hair from the headphones. I have headphone hair. I know you can’t see me, but somehow I still felt the need to explain, like maybe you’re judging me? Clearly, I’m not concerned enough about the possibility to put on a bra, so I don’t actually know what the hell was up with that.
Ooh, let’s try another random thing, shall we?
I am, somehow, the Keeper of Schedules in this family. No idea how that happened, except that I’ve got a Blackberry and it’s brilliant at sorting everyone’s calendars from all different sources. Others have tried and failed, so I think I’m stuck with the job.
ME: Wednesday, we’ve got that appointment in the morning and you’ve got the other in the afternoon. Are you just gonna work from home that day?
HIM: No, not working from home. I put the appointment on my calendar, so they know I’m leaving at 2.
ME: And coming in late? You’ve got that one on as well, right? So you’re going in from about 10-2
HIM: Yup. 10-2 = 8 hours.
HIM: You can’t argue with that logic, since it doesn’t exist.
(later, in bed)
ME: The thing is, I actually looked at that at first and thought, “oh, he’s right.” And then immediately I –
HIM: (convulsive, hysterical laughter)
ME: I immediately thought, “NO, what the hell?”
HIM: (still laughing, can barely breathe)
ME: It’s just that my brain automatically read “ten-minus-two-equals-eight” and reported “that checks out” before I could object with CONTEXT.
HIM: (laughing too hard to hear me)