About half a bottle of wine into your picnic date, you realize that the soft, slightly percussive noise isn't your date tapping on their leg or the distant echoes of children playing on the other side of the park--it's just not syncing up.

You cast your sight around, movements a bit loose and overexaggerated, and go "shh, shh, do you hear that?"

Before your date can ask what?, your eyes both land, at the same time on an inch worm flailing back and forth to hit a tiny, chitinous set of drums with two sticks somehow attached to him.