When I get up in the dark of night, to go to the gym, I have everything preset so that I don’t disturb my sleeping family.
Because sleep is a valuable commodity in this house.
My mini coffee pot has been pre-filled the night before, with my favorite coffee mug sitting beside it. The Splenda packets have already been torn open the night before, and a spoon rests on a dish, awaiting the first brew of the morning.
My running shoes are parked by my computer chair. (I don’t run, mind you, the most I ever manage is a trot.) Along with my handbag. The requisite water bottle is in the freezer, half full. All I have to do is fill it the rest of the way, and wrap a paper towel around it. To avoid the inevitable water bottle perspiration that happens when it hits room temperature. The paper towel comes in handy should I need to wipe the dew off the car windows. Or off of me.
A more prepared girl scout, there never was.
And such was the case this morning. At 5 AM, I tiptoed to the front door. Quietly, I turned the doorknob and made my exit. Even more quietly, I closed the door and locked it.
Cue the crickets, because that is all I could hear.
And then it happened.
A frog dropped onto my arm.
I covered my own mouth with my left hand, the one holding the water bottle, to stifle the scream. Jumping about 2 feet straight up, and 3 feet back, I stumbled into the rocky landscaping.
And if you were to see the front of our house, I use the word landscaping very loosely.
At this point, the frog has leaped from my arm onto the sidewalk, and is hopping towards me. I continued my backwards escape, with my arms flapping in a whirlwind type motion. Along with my water bottle, handbag, and keys.
And still I am stifling the scream.
I made a sharp backwards left turn, and the frog scurried away into the rocks.
I stumbled towards the car, certain that I’ve pulled 3 or 4 muscle groups that I had no idea I even housed. Breathless, I backed the car out of the drive. I could still feel the icky wet frog-gooiness on my arm. I used the paper towel, which miraculously made it out to the car with me, to wipe down my arm. Making a mental note NOT to use the paper towel to wipe my face later.
I noticed a light on in the neighbor’s house across the street and wondered if I drew any attention to my plight. “Well,” I reasoned to myself, “they’ve already seen me digging through my own curbside garbage. On a couple of occasions. They can’t possibly think any worse of me, really.”
And with that comforting thought, I aimed the car toward my waiting workout.
Which really was completely unnecessary, after all.