How to eat a Cicada

This is a cicada. They're a plague here in southwestern Ohio, one that emerges from deep below the ground to serenade us approximately every seven years or so. It seems appropriate that our first year as 'Ohio-ans' that this would be an emergence year, and also that we live in one of the harder hit areas. Never heard of a cicada, you say? Go here to read all about them and their mating rituals, and even hear a snippet of their song. Personally, I find the cicadas to be an annoyance, and a particularly loud one at that.

The kids and I met their cousins at the park on Saturday, and I was in a rather devious mood. We were sitting on the grass beneath a tree enjoying Icee's, and Janelle, the kids 13 year old cousin, was plucking cicada's from the trunk of the tree we were sitting underneath. She would grab them by the wings, and bring them over to torment me with their loathsome ugliness. In a fit of mischief, I told Jeremy that if he would eat one cicada, I would give him five dollars. He immediately discarded the idea, but I decided to up the ante and appeal to the sensibilities of my adventurous fiver year old. I told him that if he would eat one cicada that I would buy him a Transformer. It took him several minutes, and much goading from his cousins, but he actually did it. When it came right down to the swallowing of the hideous bug, I couldn't watch. His faithful cousins escorted him about 20 yards away, and witnessed the ingestion of the creature. Tomorrow, we venture to Wal-Mart to purchase the promised Transformer. At least he'll have a story to tell his kids, right? "Hey kids, let me tell you about the time your grandmother bribed me into eating a disgusting, noisy bug...." I'm sure they'll eat the story right up. Yuck, yuck, yuck.