Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret…the Praying Mantis

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here, God? It’s me, Margaret. I start sixth grade soon, and I’m worried that I won’t be included in any infestations. Luckily, though, I’ve already made some wonderful friends: Nancy, Gretchen, and Janie. We hang out every single day, and my bedroom has become a clubhouse where we share our biggest secrets. Nancy can be a real ambush predator sometimes, but she’s a fun hang. Gretchen is the tallest, like a stick insect, and very easygoing. Janie has spiked forelegs that I sometimes catch myself staring at. My forelegs are smooth, so mom says I don’t need to shave them just yet.Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret. It’s been two weeks since school began, and all the other girls are talking to boys and going on dates and I can’t even release my pheromones. I watched my mother sniff under her arms and gag from the stench. I sniffed under mine. Nothing. Why can’t I smell awful too? I asked Nancy how it felt to do a full-cloud release in front of Jake, the homecoming beetle. She said, “It’s like when you molt your exoskeleton, but, you know, soooo much better.” When will I get the scent, God?Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. I’m panicking! My wings still haven’t come in, and I’m almost 2 months old! Gretchen has her wings, and they’re really long. Whenever I ask her about them, she seems annoyed. My mom says that sometimes adults are apterous, or wingless. That seems really unfair, God, especially when you consider that Gretchen doesn’t even care about her wings and gets them caught in the zipper of her backpack all the time. Please don’t make me wingless, God. I’ll do anything!Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret. I think Taran likes me, but I’m confused. In the cafeteria, he did an elaborate posturing dance in front of my table. But today, he walked right past me and didn’t even say hi. Janie b

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lamed the eyespots on my grasping claws. “Nobody can tell which are your real eyes, so it makes people uncomfortable.” Ugh! Why can’t I just breed asexually, like Kendra and her cool older sister, Kendra? It would be so much easier than dealing with dumb boys.Over the weekend, Janie magically turned into a thorax jazzercise instructor and has us doing jazz claws 35 times a day. She says anything less won’t increase our bust. I’m skeptical because I’ve been doing them a week and my thoracic double-knits from Grandma are still extra baggy in the center.Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret. Mom and me had “the talk.” You know, the big, embarrassing one… the mantis lifespan. FOUR months?! Are you kidding me? To make matters worse, I learned that cicadas can live up to five years, although Dad says that they sleep underground for a decade, so to him, the extra time doesn’t seem worth it.Are you there, God? Well… big news, God. I got them! My wings are coming in! They’re pretty much nubs, but they’re definitely here. Janie is thrilled, because of course, she thinks her exercises worked, even though I know the truth. And earlier I forgot to brown bag my lunch, so instead of paying for stale pizza, I killed Taran and devoured his head right in front of his friends. It felt so natural, like I was finally being myself in front of my classmates. Nancy says I made a rookie mistake by not mating with him first. I’ve got so much to figure out. Being an adult is complicated, God.Alexa Kocinski is a writer and fat cat philanthropist paying rent in Minneapolis but living almost entirely in her own head. She is also a contributing writer to SlackJaw Humor and Little Old Lady Comedy. You can follow her on Twitter @TheWoodenslurpy or wherever social media is found.</article></body>

Puberty is hard for everybody, but it’s especially tough for a flat-chested insect who has just moved to New Jersey.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret the Mantis. We’re moving soon. I’m so scared, God. I’ve never lived anywhere except lush, tropical regions. Dad says not to worry, though, that New Jersey is called the Garden State for good reason. I imagine it’s one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Mom says the real reason we’re moving is because it’s illegal to kill praying mantises there.

Our new bush isn’t bad. But every shrub on our block looks the same, and it doesn’t feel like a very diverse ecosystem. Typical suburbs, I guess. Dad says not to complain because it could be worse. We could be living in some negligent child’s bedroom in a tinsel-wallpapered terrarium toiling under a fluorescent sun that never sets.

A girl mantis dropped by this afternoon, not an hour after I’d unpacked. She ruffled the lowest branch and asked if I wanted to play in the sprinklers next door. I poked my head out and waved. I could see my reflection in her compound eyes. I looked like an underdeveloped nymph. A thousand underdeveloped nymphs, to be exact. I hope I grow out of this phase soon.

“I’m Nancy Feeler,” she stated proudly. “And you must be Margaret.”

Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret. I start sixth grade soon, and I’m worried that I won’t be included in any infestations. Luckily, though, I’ve already made some wonderful friends: Nancy, Gretchen, and Janie. We hang out every single day, and my bedroom has become a clubhouse where we share our biggest secrets. Nancy can be a real ambush predator sometimes, but she’s a fun hang. Gretchen is the tallest, like a stick insect, and very easygoing. Janie has spiked forelegs that I sometimes catch myself staring at. My forelegs are smooth, so mom says I don’t need to shave them just yet.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret. It’s been two weeks since school began, and all the other girls are talking to boys and going on dates and I can’t even release my pheromones. I watched my mother sniff under her arms and gag from the stench. I sniffed under mine. Nothing. Why can’t I smell awful too? I asked Nancy how it felt to do a full-cloud release in front of Jake, the homecoming beetle. She said, “It’s like when you molt your exoskeleton, but, you know, soooo much better.” When will I get the scent, God?

Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. I’m panicking! My wings still haven’t come in, and I’m almost 2 months old! Gretchen has her wings, and they’re really long. Whenever I ask her about them, she seems annoyed. My mom says that sometimes adults are apterous, or wingless. That seems really unfair, God, especially when you consider that Gretchen doesn’t even care about her wings and gets them caught in the zipper of her backpack all the time. Please don’t make me wingless, God. I’ll do anything!

Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret. I think Taran likes me, but I’m confused. In the cafeteria, he did an elaborate posturing dance in front of my table. But today, he walked right past me and didn’t even say hi. Janie blamed the eyespots on my grasping claws. “Nobody can tell which are your real eyes, so it makes people uncomfortable.” Ugh! Why can’t I just breed asexually, like Kendra and her cool older sister, Kendra? It would be so much easier than dealing with dumb boys.

Over the weekend, Janie magically turned into a thorax jazzercise instructor and has us doing jazz claws 35 times a day. She says anything less won’t increase our bust. I’m skeptical because I’ve been doing them a week and my thoracic double-knits from Grandma are still extra baggy in the center.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret. Mom and me had “the talk.” You know, the big, embarrassing one… the mantis lifespan. FOUR months?! Are you kidding me? To make matters worse, I learned that cicadas can live up to five years, although Dad says that they sleep underground for a decade, so to him, the extra time doesn’t seem worth it.

Are you there, God? Well… big news, God. I got them! My wings are coming in! They’re pretty much nubs, but they’re definitely here. Janie is thrilled, because of course, she thinks her exercises worked, even though I know the truth. And earlier I forgot to brown bag my lunch, so instead of paying for stale pizza, I killed Taran and devoured his head right in front of his friends. It felt so natural, like I was finally being myself in front of my classmates. Nancy says I made a rookie mistake by not mating with him first. I’ve got so much to figure out. Being an adult is complicated, God.

Alexa Kocinski is a writer and fat cat philanthropist paying rent in Minneapolis but living almost entirely in her own head. She is also a contributing writer to SlackJaw Humor and Little Old Lady Comedy. You can follow her on Twitter @TheWoodenslurpy or wherever social media is found.