Blame it on Skippy

Last night I went to sleep to the sound of crickets chirping. All fine and good when you’re camping outside in the forest. Not so much fun when you’re in your suburban home staring at the digital clock and hoping for six hours of sleep.

My home was infested quite willingly because I actually purchase these insects on my cricket account at the local pet store. Skippy, our family tree frog, is supposed to eat the darn things. Usually, he eats quick and, usually, I only purchase female crickets (only males chirp). Last night Skippy wasn’t that hungry and there was at least one male in the list who was bent on serenading me all night long.

By midnight I was ready to pull my hair out. I told my husband if Skippy didn’t eat that cricket soon, I’d do it myself. He offered to pay just to watch it happen. Not exactly a pillar of support.

This morning, of course, the cricket is quiet. I’m unsure if it’s because he exhausted his chirping last night or if Skippy finally got hungry. Either way, I’m doomed to be bleary-eyed and a little cranky today.