Grasshoppers

They are to be hated. If one grew up trudging through cheat grass fields on the daily journey to Hillcrest Elementary, the aversion to these hopping, grasping, gnawing, clinging monsters was a given, especially for the gals. The role of the male gender at Hillcrest, especially in the fall when grasshoppers seemed most abundant, was to throw dismembered, twitching body parts on the exposed skin of the ladies.

Back in the day, skirts were required, just at the knee, fall, winter and spring so there was plenty of target areas exposed for the joy of sending the gals screaming, while wildly stomping with windmill arms lashing in all directions.  Evil cackling laughter always filled the ears of those fleeing in terror.  Clear memories that would qualify for a horror flick are deep in the gray matter of those who suffered grasshopper attack. Visions of stomped on green slime matter with protruding crooked leg parts profane the very dignity of recess time.

'Tis a miracle that there was not more mental damage done to those who endured. However, hubbie does have to venture down the path 20 feet ahead of my approach if there any of the little demons lurking nearby, beating the grass with a stick, making a clicking sound, stomping his feet, while hollering, "Get thee hence beasties, for the hour of thy destruction is nigh!"  Our marriage endures a lot.