Ribbit

When you live in Florida, you accept that you're going to find critters occasionally in places you don't expect to find them. We've had plenty of untimely sightings of the 2-inch cockroaches euphemistically known as "palmetto bugs"; we've had a lizard or two pop up in the house; and not too long ago, we had a snake in our son's bedroom. (The Boy thought it was pretty cool.)

But I certainly did not expect to be awakened from a my-flight-landed-at-12:40 a.m. fog at 7 this morning by the Old Daughter screeching, "There's a frog in my toilet!"

Thank God she tends to look down before she sits down. (That's great advice for anybody to follow, by the way.) Try to imagine, if you will, the feeling of little amphibious toes tickling your butt. Yeah. That's an image you didn't need. You can thank me later, when that pops back into your head as you get ready for some relaxing commode time this evening.

Anyway: Because "that's why I got married," said The Wife, I had to go in and deal with the frog in the toilet. After verifying that he was still there, I did what any manly dad would do: I closed the lid on the toilet and flushed.

No such luck. That's one smart frog: He was clinging to the edge of the bowl. I prodded him gently with the toilet brush, and the sumbitch jumped nearly 6 feet from the rim of the toilet to the top of the mirror over the vanity. Pretty impressive, I thought. I opened the door to the outside and prodded him a few more times. Jump, jump, and he was outside, none the worse for wear.

That's a happy ending for all involved. So imagine my surprise when, in the midst of work that I shouldn't have had to be doing at 9:30 p.m., the Old Daughter screeches, "There's a frog in my bathroom!"

Holy shit. I have Instant Replay on my day! And today's the worst damn day for Instant Replay. I would pick about 1,000 other days I'd rather go back and relive.

So, I grab the broom, and once again help Kermit hop to his semi-natural habitat.

Now, all this begs the question: How did a frog find its way into our house? Is he coming up through the toilet? (The palmetto bugs occasionally make their way up through the drain.) The door to outside wasn't left open. There are no windows. There are no openings in the ceiling. And when I asked him as he was hop-hopping outside, the little bugger didn't even have the courtesy to say, "Ribbit."

Pretty rude, I think. Next time, he just might get flushed.