Yesterday evening, after a particularly stressful day at work, I got to enjoy some quality time with the better half.
For about an hour and a half, I got to play an invigorating game of tennis. By tennis, I mean, hitting the ball back and forth because I suck, and Justin is kind enough to lower his level of playing to match mine.
Anywho, about halfway into the game, tons of crickets start to appear. Like, hundreds. And they jump all over you, and they are getting squashed by tennis balls. Sort of funny.
But right as I’m about to serve to Justin, this cricket comes and hits me in the face, then falls onto my chest. I yelp, try and make him vacate the “chest-ial” region, and he gets stuck inside of my sports bra, right under my left boob. At this point, I have no idea what to do, and I feel him all being crickety on my body.
Justin, meanwhile, is trying to figure out why I suddenly dropped my racquet and started squirming like a worm.
Keep in mind that there are about five other tennis courts in this particular area, and I’m starting to draw attention to myself.
I think at some point, the cricket vacated the premises, but the thought of it “fondling” me made me a little insane, to put it mildly.
So I meet Justin up around the net and explain to him what needs to be done: look up my shirt and sports bra to make sure the stupid cricket isn’t still in there. Ugh, mortifying.
I hate crickets. Especially ones that get caught in your sports bra and fondle you.
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