Well, here we are. You guys and me.
I know I was reluctant to welcome you all, the most magnificent Brood V, to the panhandle of West Virginia. I know I said hasty things I’d regret later. But I went out of my way, on Day 5 of your miraculous emergence, to correct my faulty thinking. I apologized to you for my vitriol. And I tried to make you feel at home and marvel at your evolutionary genius. We’ve settled into a routine now, right?
It’s just that…how do I put this?
The thing of it is, well, that was, like, Day 5. And you guys were crawling out of the ground in moderate numbers and unfurling your beautiful wings and resting in the shade, and my kids were playing with you and you were crawling on their shoulders and hanging off their ears. It was a jolly swell time, wasn’t it? And, you know, I’d just seen that amazing Kickstarter cicada video with the violins.
Violins, cicadas. I get swept up by violins. And then they threw in some sunset shots and some text that kind of faded into the background as the camera panned away from your little carcasses. I think I got lost in the romance of it, you know?
I went to Jamaica once. I’d just had a long, sad breakup and I was feeling really unattractive and miserable and lonely. And I got a little carried away by the romance of the island. Maybe I made some poor choices. It’s easy to do when you’re emotionally affected. But then, ultimately, reality sets in and you realize you’ve had fourteen Purple Rains and a roll of film is missing and it’s the dawn of the internet and girls are going wild and things aren’t quite as beautiful as you thought they were.
And I’m not likening you guys to regrettable Caribbean hot tub misadventures. Certainly not. It’s just that…not everything ends up quite the way we think it’s going to. Sometimes life is violins and sunsets, and sometimes life is a dog vomiting cicadas carcasses up onto the bedroom carpet.
Remember that time you just sort of sat on my lounge chair and stared at me and didn’t move and I was able to admire you in your stillness? That was nice. I was thinking about it the other day when one of you bumbled into my eye socket. Like, right into my cornea. And it’s not that I don’t welcome your morning input, but I also found one of you in my coffee cup. Why, cicadas?
Feel free to ride the dog–seriously–but could you hop off before the dog comes into the house? And could you, like, leave your exoskeletons maybe out in the yard instead of on my dental floss? Just a thought.
Quite frankly, you guys are kind of loud. And there are about 10 million more of you than I was expecting.
I mean, did you ever throw a party or maybe plan a wedding, and you have a set number of guests and the right amount of seats and food for those guests, and then on the day of the party Uncle Hank shows up with his new girlfriend and her four kids and they just kind of shrug and say, “Gee, hope you don’t mind our crashing your party–har har,” and then you realize you’re going to have to give up your own dinner because there’s not enough food for them so you just end up eating cold cocktail weenies off a toothpick while her kids gnaw on the steak you set aside for yourself and resenting the shit out of Uncle Hank who obviously doesn’t realize that she’s just using him for his time share in Myrtle Beach? God, what an oblivious idiot.
I’m not calling you party crashers. It’s just that there’s a lot of you. And normally in June, I’d be on my deck with a cocktail and a novel, or planting some caladiums, but at the moment you guys are so loud that I just feel like listening to the hum of my air conditioner instead. They say your decibel levels rival those of a rock concert. Heh. Wow. That’s something, eh?
I know this is your life cycle, and I was all, “Yay cicadas!” a few days ago. Really, I thought you were well on your way to doing your bug-romance thing. But I’ve noticed that some of you are still crawling out of the ground. Getting a late start on your emergence. In some circles, Cicadas, we’d call that rude. Lateness is generally frowned upon.
Sometimes I wish for a good old fashioned stink bug sighting again. And that’s not your fault. I’m sure it’s my own baggage I’m dealing with. Still, if you could work with me a bit, I’d appreciate it.
Also, I don’t know how to say this delicately, but some of you are starting to stink.