This week, I celebrated Lollipop Tuesday by eating a cricket. Sour cream and onion, to be exact. Grossed out? So am I. Don’t want to read on? I don’t blame you. Don’t know what Lollipop Tuesday is? Check out the top of the page to calm that burning sensation in your cerebrum.
As it turns out, I need quite a bit of convincing to chomp down on the thoracic exterior of a once-live, now-sour-cream-’n'-onion cricket. It took me nearly half an hour to throw it down the hatch. Here are some of the reasonings my mind attempted during the excruciating limbo:
“I’m sure lots of people in other cultures eat bugs. Yeah. I’m sure I’ve seen it on a travel channel or something. Lots of other countries have people who see this just like I see a banana. A banana with legs and eyes and antenna. …No. no that’s not working.
Maybe there’s something on the box that will help me. Like a breakdown of how darn healthy this is for me. *gets box* Actually, it appears there’s only a diagram of the cricket. Outlining all its bits and pieces.
Okay, look. This is easy. It’s 9:00pm, and I don’t have anything new for Lollipop Tuesday. Nothing. And it’s too late to go out and try to do something tonight so it’s cricket or bust. Cricket or bust. Cricket or bust. Just do it. Do it and blog it. Bam. Wham Bam Bam-o.
No, I can’t. EEEEeeeewww look at it. Look at iiiiiit. Its little leg is poking out from the rest of it. EW.
All right, JESUS! I SHOULD EAT THEM BECAUSE OF JESUS. SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST IS SAID TO HAVE LIVED ON LOCUSTS AND HONEY IN THE DESERT. I CAN BE LIKE JOHN.
No, I’m sorry, this is disgusting. I can’t do this. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.
Okay here we go. I’ll turn it into a drink. A Cricket Soco Shot. Yeaaaah *goes and pours shot* Okay – new shot! Crunch up the cricket as fast as you can, and shoot the Soco.
Ew. I can’t do this. I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. This is disgusting. All for a stinking blog. A BLOG. NO ONE’S EVEN GOING TO CARE.
All right, forget it. Just forget it. I’m just going to set an egg timer and when it goes off, I eat it. Like Scattegories. Okay. *Tick tick tick …..*
Okay this is unbearable. 5-4-3-2-1!”
And that’s when I did it. I popped the cricket in my mouth, where I quickly crunched down on it and kicked it to the back right corner of my mouth. My tongue in a frenzy to work to somehow chew it without tasting it, I was frozen in terror and got it lodged between my lip and teeth. Mortified, my tongue scraped at my teeth, trying to work it to the back of my throat where my esophagus could take over and I could be released from my peril.
Finally, it dislodged and I washed it back with a shot of Southern Comfort and disgust. I quickly reached for my enormous glass of orange juice, which I stashed for such a crisis. I guzzled the entire cup down in a blink and ran to the bathroom to rinse what I was sure were little cricket bits out from my mouth.
Haggard, I walked into the living room, where Dave made a remark about the irony of my egg timer being a ladybug. And then something or other about the cricket being in my throat and wanting to crawl back up.
Today, I’m walking around with a lump in my throat, mulling over the atrocity that I swallowed the evening prior. I imagine it swimming in my bowels, I imagine it running through the course of my digestive system, all the while a beady, black-eyed, cricket.
Which, by the way, doesn’t taste as much like sour cream and onion as it does regret. ♠