(Warning: if your gross out threshold is a tad low today, avert your eyes, my friends. Avert your eyes.)
A few weeks ago, I climbed into the passenger side of the van, and Fiddledaddy went around to take the steering wheel as we prepared for a family outing.
If a trip to Wal•Mart counts as a family outing.
I heard him exclaim that a frog had been smashed when someone last closed the driver’s side door. And it was still there. Intact.
“COOL!” Everyone jumped out to ogle pay their respects to the flattened frog.
Everyone except me, that is.
I don’t have to remind you how I feel about frogs. I don’t want to look at ‘em. Dead or alive.
No amount of begging would remove me from the passenger seat. I wasn’t looking. Out of sight. Out of mind. I stared ahead, singing my happy song in my head, to drown out the descriptive conversation.
I asked my family to take pity on me and scrape it off so that I would NEVER have to see it.
Ingrates that they are, they refused.
And so the flat frog remained.
I’ve continued to chauffeur my children around God’s green earth. I’ve just chosen to avert my eyes every time I open the van door.
But then, I downloaded some pictures from my camera the other day.
Evidently, Fiddledaddy borrowed my camera.
Now do you see what I have to deal with here?
It’s just wrong, I tell you. Wrong.