This is my last post that has anything to do with frogs. And my unreasonable fear of them.
(Cue the applause.)
I just thought you all should know that the frog was waiting for me again Friday morning. At 5 AM. I peeked out the window right by the door, and there he was. Beady eye level with me. Staring. Daring me to open the door.
I’m pretty sure that he is the cousin of the frog that we relocated to the Honda dealership. Because if I thought for a moment, that Honda Frog had found his way back, a large FOR SALE sign would be our lawn ornament.
And frankly, I don’t have time to clean the house.
I looked down for a moment, thinking, thinking. Willing him to disappear. When I looked up, he was gone. I’m never that lucky, so I was certain he was now on the door, waiting for me to open it, so he could fling himself into my hair.
Causing me to die of heart failure on my own doorstep. With a frog entangled in my hair.
Slowly, I opened the door just a crack. No frog. I leapt through the doorway and quickly closed the door behind me. I had to turn around to lock it, to protect the occupants still blissfully sleeping. Otherwise I would have kept running. There he was. Right above the lock, on the doorjamb. Bracing myself with my back left leg, I leaned back, and stretched my arm in toward the lock, key readied. Not breathing, I turned the lock slowly. Pulled my arm back into the socket, then turned and RAN like a bat out of a hot place to the car.
Quickly, I locked the car doors, turned the music up loud, and blasted off out of my driveway.
When I told Fiddledaddy about the latest incident, he suggested that I simply pick up a rock and smash the frog. I reminded him what a really bad aim I am and that I could end up breaking out a window.
He agreed. “You’re right. You would probably break the neighbors window. Across the street.”
And really, I just can’t picture myself smashing a frog with a rock.
Blowing him away with a semiautomatic shotgun, sure. But a rock? No.
One time, many many years ago, when I was single, I smashed a large cockroach in my pantry. With the door. And left him there for months to serve as a warning to his cockroach relatives.
This frog really has no idea who he’s dealing with. Forty some-odd years of pent up anger and crazy, could spell frog annihilation. A ticking time bomb. I’m just sayin’.
Anyhoo, to be safe, this morning I exited the house wearing a hooded jacket, gloves, and glasses. And the weather here in Armpit, Florida certainly did not warrant those extreme measures.
But, my reasoning was that he would not be able to reach skin, should he leap on me. Again. If he could even recognize me, that is. Since I was incognito, and all.
Now, for your sanity, as well as my own, I will refrain from blogging about that 4 letter word that begins with “F.” For a really stinking long time.
But, should you happen to read a sensational news article about a hapless frog, a harried housewife, and a loaded shotgun, well, I simply can’t be responsible.
The Frog Trilogy, Now Plus One:
(in order of occurrence)