The annual fall cicadas emerged, lived, and died by the time I noticed. These aren’t the ones that go dormant for 17 years, or the ones that they used to make my old drug Gilenya, or the Zombie cicadas (or, as this article calls them, the flying salt shakers of death).
No, these are the stocky ones that you can pick up in your hand and “fly” around your husband’s head until he screams.
I have pulled this prank twice and it always satisfies. There’s something about cicadas, they are so substantial they don’t feel like an insect. But they look like monsters.