(Today I’m actually coming to you from the offices at Long Awkward Pause, where we like to say “offices” instead of climate-controlled storage units…)
It’s June 2014, and that means a new generation of newlyweds in The South will be racing past family and friends while being showered with frantically mating cicadas. What are cicadas you ask? Think really big crickets.
No, think grasshoppers on steroids.
Actually, think “Hopper” from A Bug’s Life.
For those who haven’t experienced cicada season, it’s easy to imagine if you keep one thing in mind: For six weeks, wherever you go and whatever you do, you will be doing it within the general vicinity of at least 200 cicadas, each of which will be participating in something generally reserved for late night cable. To make matters worse, thousands of male cicadas will be attempting to attract disinterested females by repeating a series of deafening mating calls, which entomologists, after years of research, have finally translated to mean: hey baby hey baby hey baby… (Click here for more at LAP)