humor, motherhood

The Frog of Doom

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A while back there was a Dead Lizard Incident in my house.  I found this unfortunate fellow in my Amazon box and consequently lost my ability to reason, but not my ability to purchase from Amazon (sorry Mad Dog).  Full Speed had to rescue me and dispose of the limp, lifeless and oh-so-disgusting body.  The point is, me and small, slimy-looking critters are not friends.  If they stay away from me, I’m happy to let them exist, but if they come near me or worse yet, come in my HOUSE, I stop functioning as a proper adult.

Mad Dog is once again traveling for work.  This means that I am the lone, sane adult person responsible for all remaining members of our household.   Per my usual routine and ‘being the one in charge’ I went to our screened in lanai to let our dogs out first thing in the morning.  As I did so, I absently placed my feet in my slippers.  I noticed the toes on my left foot brushed up against something and proceeded to tap out the slipper to figure out what it was.

It was a frog.

Let me repeat, it was a frog.

For some strange reason, I didn’t panic.  I felt nauseous and wanted to cry, but I held it together.  I poked the frog with the end of the slipper and much to my horror, realized it had expired.  My toes basically had touched a dead frog.

I’ll give you a minute while you let that sink in.

There aren’t words to convey how traumatic I found this to be.  Again, amazingly I kept my cool, and proceeded to let the dogs out so I could start my day.  I figured when the boys came downstairs Full Speed could ‘rescue me’ again and dispose of the body.  I opened our back screen door and turned to tell the dogs to get a move on, and then, that’s when I saw an empty open space where I thought a dead frog should be.

The frog was not dead.

Let me repeat, the frog of doom was not dead.

To worsen matters, the doors to the interior of my house were still open.  So, did it go in or did it go out?  I didn’t know.

Well, there was much to be done.  I came in the house, headed straight to the cabinet under the kitchen sink and grabbed the Lysol.  After I sufficiently Lysoled my bare foot, as I could and still can feel the exact spot on my toes that had come into contact with the frog, I sat down to reason through my next steps.  Clearly, I am burning the slippers, that is a no-brainer, and I plan to use the smoke from this fire to signal to Mad Dog that I have permanently relocated our family to a frog-free zone.

It’s what any logical, sane person would do, right?

4 thoughts on “The Frog of Doom”

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