The other day, I opened the front door of my fourth-floor apartment to find an unwelcomed visitor standing in the middle of my kitchen. Immediately, my heart began to race as I dropped my groceries, allowing a single head of lettuce to roll gingerly across the living room floor. Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about the 5-second rule because I’d only bought the lettuce to impress my mother during one of her visits so she could stop complaining about my not eating vegetables. Anyway, as opposed to running back out the front door, I decided that I was going to roll up my sleeves and battle it out. There was absolutely no way I was going to let a cricket ruin my day and force me to stay at a hotel for a few weeks until I was sure it was gone—AGAIN! Nope, this time would be different. This time, only one of us would be leaving the apartment alive. I hoped and prayed it would be me.

Snapping into survival mode, I eyed the phone book that sat on the counter. I lunged for it and patted myself on the back for my quick thinking, happy that I snatched it up before my opponent did. I flung it at the cricket and ran into the bathroom for cover. Once I thought it was safe, I tiptoed down the hall and peeked over the kitchen counter to survey the damage. I expected to see little cricket bits splattered everywhere. However, I had missed, and the cricket turned toward me as if to say, “Do it again and I will get you and your little groceries too!” In a quick motion that I learned from watching The Matrix, I did two somersaults and a backflip off the microwave before landing into a handstand. This stunned the poor cricket. I gave a chuckle and said, “Any last words?” My father would have been so proud of me.

It wasn’t until after I’d had a moment of silence in honor of my adversary that the magnitude of what had taken place hit me. Some of my friends can barely make it up the four flights of stairs. A few of them had even called me from the midway point and told me they were giving up and heading back home. If that’s the case, how was it possible that a cricket—of all things—made its way into my top-floor apartment? Suddenly it hit me. I’d been set up. Someone must have planted that cricket there simply for the purpose of getting me out of the way so they could hijack my blog. Yeah, that had to be it. It was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with. Think about it. Crickets can’t climb stairs. The good news is that I thwarted their evil plans and lived to tell the story. I guess it’s all in a day’s work.

Actually, that wasn’t the first time my life had been in danger due to an insect. Of course, there was that unfortunate cicada incident a few years ago where one was flying toward me in slow motion, and despite all the bobbing, weaving, and arm flailing I did, it still managed to land right on my top lip. Then, there was the time I was at a department store going through a rack of clothing when I noticed a bee on the shirt I was just about to pick out. Honestly, I’m not sure why the manager got so upset just because I grabbed the fire extinguisher and went after the bee. Sure, some of the clothing and electronics did get a tad bit damaged, but at least no one got stung. I totally saved them from a lawsuit. Some people are so ungrateful. In addition to my now being banned from the store, I think the bee alerted all his little bee buddies, so I wasn’t completely shocked last week when I was at the state fair and a bee landed on my hot dog and refused to move until I tossed it and the hot dog in the trash. Now that I think about it, it’s completely reasonable for me to think that maybe the bees were planted too, and the person used a cricket in the most recent attack to throw me off their trail. Hmmm. I guess anything is possible.

Moving right along, I have great news. After 7 months of working on a military base, I was finally mistaken for a soldier. No lie. I was just as shocked as you are. Me? A soldier? Well, I guess if we can put a man on the moon, my being a soldier is somewhat within reason. Anyway, so I’m walking down the hall, minding my own business, when someone says, “Oh, I thought you were one of the soldiers with that walk.” I couldn’t have been happier. All those months of following behind the troops and hiding in the bushes so that I could study their stride had finally paid off. I thought about enlisting right then and there. I mean, if I’d gotten the walk down so quickly, certainly I could learn the other ins and outs of being a soldier in no time. But when I think about it, it probably wouldn’t be advisable for the military to allow me near a gun—especially with all the renegade bees buzzing around. On top of that, I’ve never been a huge fan of green. I’d have to talk to someone about getting some blue fatigues instead of the green camouflage uniforms they wear. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too much of a problem though.

Excited about my finally mastering the technique, I started doing the soldier stroll everywhere I went. At the mall. At the library. At church. I’ve even decided that “Do the Soldier Walk” will be the first single off my hip-hop country album scheduled for release in the fall of 2029. I’ll let you all know when I shoot the video with Lady Gaga and Brad Paisley. Well, I was soldier strolling down the block the other day in hopes that someone would ask about my military status, when a part of the sidewalk reached up and grabbed my foot. Needless to say, I tripped. Actually, it was more like a stop, drop, and roll. I rolled right on down the block. When I came to a halt, I played it off by popping up off the ground and doing the soldier salute—yes, I learned that too. Despite my bruised knees, elbows, and forehead, I’m not giving up on the soldier walk. I just need a little more practice. And who knows, maybe it will catch on and I’ll be the next big thing. Maybe I’ll even get a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame! Completely reasonable and realistic if you ask me.

In other news, I realize that the topic of aging has been a recurring theme throughout my past few blog entries. In all honesty, at 30, I don’t believe I’m old. I may exaggerate just a tad about needing a walker, and how awesome it is to be able to sit in those first few coveted seats on the bus reserved for the elderly and disabled. And I may even brag about pulling rank on other senior citizens and winning debates regarding whether my glaucoma is worse than theirs. Despite this, I repeat, I do not believe I’m old. However, apparently that view is not shared by the Smithsonian whose senior citizen discount services department recently mailed me a magazine subscription offer at the senior rate of $10—an 81% savings off the cover price. In addition, I’ll get special discounts at the Smithsonian gift shop and a personalized membership card. Awesome!!! Thus, regardless of what I think, in the court of public opinion, I’m considered ancient. Because of this, I will continue accepting my senior-citizen discounts with all the pride and dignity that an elderly person should.

Lastly, as adults, regardless of age, we have to ensure that we make decisions that reflect our roles as such. Thus, as I stood in Target with a $5.89 toffee mocha latte with an extra espresso shot from Starbucks (a complete bargain and worth every penny), I was shocked and appalled to see that a 100-day supply of multivitamins was $7.99. The nerve! It’s completely unjustifiable to pay that much for some pills that allegedly have some form of major health benefit. We’re in a recession. Who has money like that? I almost whipped out my phone to alert Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson right then and there. However, because I figured they were probably busy with other more important things, I decided to let my money do the talking and NOT buy anything other than the $153.97 worth of stuff I had in my cart—and I only bought that stuff because I absolutely needed the watermelon scented body wash. It was on sale for $8.99. Otherwise, I would have left the cart right there in the middle of the aisle. Thus, if you are ever forced to choose between vitamins, prescription drugs, or Starbucks, go with the Starbucks. You’ll get more bang for your buck, and it’s a completely reasonable option. Besides, if you get hit by a bus one day, it won’t matter whether your blood pressure was under control or not, or whether you’ve gotten your daily requirement of zinc. I’m just saying.

Michael Rochelle

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