Freddy Kruger's got nuthin' on my son

“No problem, Mom. You don’t even have to touch them.”

I blinked, feeling my left eye twitch. Finally. I was confronted with my worst nightmare. I knew it would happen one day, only I never expected it would come from the fruit of my womb. My son held up a clear plastic box that held roughly twenty crickets with their evil little antenna twitching to the tempo of their cricket-y symphony. I’ve lovingly called the box Dragon McDonalds for their easy pickin’s. Or Jiminy Cricket’s Last Chance Diner.

Regardless of the box’s name, I was to feed these grotesque monsters to his three bearded dragons while he took off for a concert in San Diego.

Bearded dragons.

Doesn’t that sound something like a cross between Puff the Magic Dragon and Ethel Merman? Oddly enough, they’re cute in a scale-y sort of way, and I love to hold them.

What I will not hold is a freaking cricket. My son showed me how I wouldn’t have to touch a single cricket during the feeding. I. Hate. Crickets. To say they scare the shit out of me is an understatement. I’ve been known to jump on my husband’s head when I saw one skippy skapping across the kitchen floor. Mom tells me crickets in the house are a sign of a happy home. They never came to my home, where shrieks can be heard from down the street.

At the appointed hour of the morning, grossly under-caffeinated, I entered the sanctum santorum with my boxful of Jiminy Crickets and began channeling Princess Bride. “Hallo. My name is Indigo Montoya. You are dinosaur food. Prepare to die.”

I took the little tube out of the McDonald’s box and dumped ten Jiminys into the big mama dragon’s lair. She was in Nirvana. I began feeling pretty good about myself. A breakthrough, perhaps. I went over to the baby dragon’s tank and repeated the process. Hell yes, thinks I. I am woman, hear me roar. I am invincible. I am Sheena, Queen of the Jiminy Crickets. Eat me, you little worthless begga…holy shit…!

As if on cue, an escapee from the slaughterhouse came waltzing up the wall, winking his antenna at me. I haven’t sped out of my kids’ rooms that fast since the time my daughter barfed all over my new suit. I locked the door and thought seriously about torching the place. No worse nightmare could invade my dreams, let alone my waking life.

Never, never, never ask me to feed your damn dragons again.

I’m certain I’ve lost five good years of my life. Now my son must die. Send all Reiki hugs my way.