I hate frogs. There is just no other way around it. I hate them. "But they're so cute!" I often hear. No. Put in "slimy" or "icky" or just "www" in place of cute, and then you're speaking my language. In my former life when I worked as a camp counselor, summer after summer I would often have to wade into a mud pit upto my knees FULL of tadpoles and frogs. One would assume that I'd have some lingering mental fortitude from that experience, but nope. I don't. When in Rome (or when at camp) I could (sorta) handle it, but a few years out I loose my freaking mind when they are too close for comfort.
One morning (while house sitting) I wake up in a fantastic mood. I mean, I normally bound up with a lot of energy and joy, but I was in a Snow White-sing to the birds-cuddle the dog-skip down the stairs sort of mood. I even thought to myself, wow, those endorphins must be on high today or something. I take care of everything, note the clock, and see I'm even leaving the house a little before 6 for my run--I'll easily be able to knock out my 6 miles before 7:30 a.m.! I sing good-bye to the dog, set the alarm, step outside, shut the door, and then IT HAPPENS.
A FROG FALLS ON MY FACE.
Little cold feets were ON MY FOREHEAD AND EYELID. The jerk then fell onto my chest (thank you God that I was wearing a sports bra and form fitting tank. If the little demon had fallen down my shirt I'd be dead). Commence a 6:00 a.m. loose my freaking mind session like I haven't experienced in years (since that one time a couple beetles got stuck in my hair). I was HOARSE from the screams I let out (and glad I was in the country, less the ACPD were called). I flipped out. I screamed some more. I shuddered. I flipped. I DIDN'T cuss (I was pretty impressed with that later on). I get to my car. I flip out some more. I'm shaking. I notice it's 6:03 a.m. and who can I call at 6:03 a.m. to talk about this, who'll still be my friend after I wake them up at 6:03 a.m. to scream? So I email my friend Kelli. Shudder just a bit more. Then go run.
My new morning routine at this abode--hide behind the door and let the dog out. Scoot over to let her back on. Peer through the windows/cracks to check for frogs. Poke my head out, glance. Set the alarm. Fling myself out the door and backup to check under the roof before becoming stationary long enough to lock the door, before sprinting to my car.
Ugh. Frogs, friends. NO.