I went to the loo last night in the dark. You see I’ve got this thing about sleeping. I really really love it. So when my bladder alarm goes in the wee hours, I do the trip in the dark – mostly with my eyes closed. A writers brain is a fickle thing and once you start flicking switches and being around bright lights, you can kiss sleep goodbye. Anyone with me?
So… I’m doing my best impression of a sleepwalker down the passage and I kick something cold and slimy. I take another step and kick the freaking thing again. If you thought bright lights put a whammy on a sleepy brain – you should try bare feet and cold squishy things. URGH. I put the light on.
There he sat in all his slimy smugness. A gross frog. Not a cute little tree-thingy with sticky pads for feet… not one of those swimmy ones ala Flushed Away. Just a big knobbly frog. Somehow those knobbles turn my stomach inside out. So I trapped him under a cup for my other half to deal with in the morning. He normally walks them down – not on a leash or anything – to the closest storm water drain, and magnanimously returns them to the wild. Greenpeace would be proud. Flushing them would have the same effect, but for the teensy problem that they refuse to be flushed. NOT the kind of thing you want to sit on in the dark in the midnight hours. *Shudder*
The morning went pear shaped and he ran out of time. I thought I would do one better and take the offending amphibian into town to release him into the wild. You see… these things are frighteningly territorial and he would come back and quite frankly I’m not volunteering for that whole squishy in the dark thing. Uh-Uh. Nope. NOT.
It was all going rather well till I went round a bend and the cup tipped. Traitorous blooming cup. It happened in slow motion. Just like the movies. He sat deadstill for a moment and then leapt under the seat. I screamed so loud I’m sure all of Heaven ground to a halt to peer down and see. I’m not a wuss, promise. Just don’t be a frog and leap at me. I will scream at you. Guaranteed.
I drove to work scanning for frog rather than traffic, expecting cold knobbly frog fingers up my pants leg any moment. No man. Not funny. My lovely boss let me park in her yard and leave all my doors open in the hopes he’d take the hint. She doesn’t have frog issues. I prayed, asking for an angel to come escort him out the car. I could just imagine some junior angel being dispatched from Heaven grumbling and wishing it were a frothy demon he were coming down to sort out.
So is he gone? I can only hope so. What deeper lesson did I learn? Um… other than ‘never take a frog in you car unless you want him in there’ – I got nothing.
How about you?
What creeps you out?