Sept. 30, 2007 ~ Seeing Red
For most of my adult life, if you had asked me what my favorite color was, I would have said, "Blue." When department store cosmetic counter ladies asked me what the main colors in my wardrobe were, the answer was "Blue." Our couch and chairs? Blue. Cars? Blue. Blue cars for twenty years. Oddly enough, my REAL favorite color has always been purple, but somewhere along the way I was taught that blue was the more appropriate color. And I did like it, especially Midnight Blue. I just liked purple more. But I could see that purple furniture and cars might not work out so well, so things around here were pretty much various shades of blue. Mats on picture frames, decorative items, pillows, all blue.
And then one day it was time to get a new truck, and I chose a maroon one. Husband had a red one once, but this one was mine, and it was a nice wine red. My cell phone is maroon. Lots of things in my house, everywhere I look, are that same shade of red. Deep, dark, rich, beautiful red. How did I go from purple to blue to red? Clearly, blue and red DO combine to make purple, but I don't think that's the point. It's just a matter of changing taste, and it appears that I am now someone who sincerely likes red. Just certain shades of red, though. Not orange, and not red-orange or anything close to it. Or pink. In fact, I like red roses so dark they almost look black. Or white roses. But that's a different story.
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I have become a killer of crickets. Shocking, isn't it? Not that long ago, even as recently as six months ago, crickets and I got along just fine. If I saw one in the house, I either tolerated it or shooed it gently outdoors. Never gave them a second thought. It's not as if they were JUNE BUGS. Or WASPS. But now?
I. Hate. Crickets. Hate them. Do not like them even a little bit. This summer's plentiful rains and relatively mild temperatures combined to create a cricket population explosion, and they are everywhere. And they get on me, which I really don't enjoy. Did you know they jump, climb, fly or magically find a way to get up on things, like furniture, clothing, walls, and people? Every morning at home, I step on a half dozen crickets, as does Husband, before I can even make it to the kitchen. Ick. And there are little ones, so you can probably guess what that means. Mama and Daddy Cricket, along with all the cousins, aunts, and uncles, have made themselves quite at home here. They've rolled out the welcome mat and invited all their little disgusting friends. They have a tiny maternity ward somewhere in the house.
At work? For weeks I have started my day with a broom and dustpan, and swept up dead crickets, and killed live crickets, for a good half hour. Why, yes, we DO have an exterminator! The residual chemicals they spray do seem to kill the crickets at work, it's just that new ones keep coming in, and there are now cricket corpses everywhere you look. I've given up on them, and leave them to the cleaning lady. She's given up on them, too, I think. Or they just keep on coming. I think she sweeps them up on Saturdays, but the rest of the week? Dead crickets. Ick.
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Bucky is sick, and he is tired of it. Fed up. He will no longer eat his oral medicines, which are powders mixed with a small amount of feed. He especially dislikes the antibiotic, so instead of paying $35 for five days worth of powder, we are paying about $30 a day to give him shots, which he also hates. He's really just tired of the whole being sick thing, and I can't say that I blame him. Poor boy. But he is slowly getting better, thank goodness.
When I worked part-time, I used to joke that I needed a full-time job just to pay our vet bill. At this point, it's no longer a joke. This month I am working for Bucky. My paychecks go straight to the vet. And you know what? I'm really glad to be able to do it, and that we don't have to worry and fret about the cost. Because he's definitely worth it.
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