Of all the shopping I’ve done, this has got to be weirdest thing.
Dean and I bought crickets for his brother’s pet lizard to eat.
I refused to go in the pet shop, but Dean told me the guy just scooped crickets with his bare hands from the cage full of crickets.
“Then how do you think they put crickets in the plastic bag?” Dean asked, laughing.
“Tweezers?! Tongs?! A spoon?!!!”
The crickets constantly made cricketing sounds that made the hair on my arms rise 90 degees.
I imagined the crickets escaping from the plastic bag, crawling into my ears.
What if there’s a hole in the bag?
I just wanted Dean to drive fast to send me home.
I refused to come near the plastic bag, I refused to look at it, I refused to acknowledge it.
I refused to talk to Dean when he made cricketing sounds to scare me.
I refuse to ever let my future sons have pets; lizards, rats, whatever.
I am not having these things in my house.
And I probably cannot drink take-away teh ais from mamak stalls anymore since they use these kind of plastic bags.
The thought of loose crickets in there. Cringe.