Happy as a Cricket
It's a sad fact: I can't handle crickets. The svelte-legged little critters make my skin crawl. Summer's here and they're marching en masse into my house. Hairy Huntsmen spiders, sewer-dwelling roaches and beefy-looking beetles are a doddle to deal with in comparison to Jiminy cricket and his mates. Last week an interloper came down the hallway settled on the grandfather clock and began a jam session with father time. I put an end to Jimmy and the Crickets informal musical event by throwing a tea towel in his direction. This method was employed by my father who was a bit of a wuss when it came to removing an orthopteran from the house. Quivering at the thought of picking up the little blighter, a tea towel provided a buffer zone by enabling dad to bundle up Jiminy and set him free outside. One has to work quickly in order for a catch and release to be successful. Armed with a handful of tea towels and a kitchen broom as backup, I lobbed a lump of linen a...