The Frog Story

It was Monday afternoon, and I was feeling good. I'd had a fairly productive weekend, which had turned itself into a great start to the week. I had a few things to do – some papers to grade, a test to write – but overall, I was feeling on top of all the stuff I needed to be on top of.

This was especially good news, as the Bears were playing the Packers on Monday Night Football, and I wasn't going to miss seeing that whether I had work to do or not! I invited Lauren over and chilled some wine.

Then, about 15 minutes before kick-off, I remembered that I had to make a stop at the grocery store. It was an important errand that couldn't wait, and I figured I had just enough time to run down the street, get what I needed, and make it back in time to pour the wine and see the kick-off.

In a bit of a hurry, I grabbed my wallet and my keys and flung the door wide open...only to welcome a nasty little frog right into my living room.

Now let me pause the story for a moment to say that I am deathly afraid of frogs. There! I have admitted it, and it actually feels really good to get it off my chest. Brandon and I have had quite the little frog problem at our house this summer. On any given night, there might be 10 frogs hanging out on the back patio and five more in the front – mostly enjoying the comfort of our welcome mat, which has now been discarded in order to avoid any further misunderstandings as to who it is that is officially welcome.

Now, the frogs have always gotten to me a bit, but I've always tried to pass it off as something less embarrassing than a phobia. I'd say things like, “My issue wasn't the frogs themselves, but with the sheer number of them hanging out – and pooping no less! - on my patio” or “It's not that I'm afraid of the frogs, I just think they're kind of nasty and don't want to hang out with so many of them.”

But I have decided that there's no use fighting it anymore. The truth is that yes, I am afraid of the frogs. And don't give me a line about how I'm bigger than the frogs (although you have not seen the giant frogs we have here!), and they are way more afraid of me than I am of them. If this is the thought going through your head, you have obviously never had one of these nasty creatures in your home.

So back to the story...

The frog jumped right in the house, as if it had just been sitting there waiting for the door to open. And it went directly under the couch, upon which I decided to stand, figuring it was the safest place in the house at the moment. I called Brandon, who says I was practically hyperventilating (although he has a tendency to exaggerate), and asked him to please come home and save me, to which he replied, “Don't be ridiculous.” Well, I certainly didn't think I was being ridiculous. I was trapped on my couch by the frog that was under it.

Eventually I found the courage to step onto the floor and go into the kitchen where I found a large, plastic bowl that I figured I could throw onto the frog as a trap. I fully intended on throwing this bowl away when the job was done.

In the meantime, Lauren showed up and came in, and the frog went to sulk in the corner, where I could keep my eye on him (still from the safety of the couch) but not reach him with my bowl. So for the next hour – and I am not exaggerating that time frame – Lauren and I tried to catch the frog. She would do something to spook it, and I would be ready to drop the bowl on it as it went darting across the floor. But it was way too fast for my shaking hands, and we never did catch it.

At one point, we chased it from one corner to another and back again, the frog hopping hurriedly along the wall behind the couch. He was never out in the open long enough for me to drop that bowl on him, and eventually he started to figure out my scheme.

So, after running around for almost an hour trying to trap him under a bowl, during which the football game had gotten underway, Lauren and I decided that the only thing we could do was barricade him in the corner. We figured it was the only way we'd ever be able to go on with the night we had planned.

So we got some card tables and other barricade-building materials and trapped that frog right in there. We saw him try to climb up the wall a time or two, but it didn't seem like he was quite capable; and we figured we were safe.

We drank our wine (which we desperately needed at this point) and watched the rest of the game, which the Bears won, by the way (just in case you weren't watching it yourself). Lauren left as soon as it ended. I sat down at my computer to do a few school-related things before heading to bed, at which point I heard some rustling noises coming from the opposite side of the living room from where the frog was supposed to be barricaded.

There were some plastic Wal-Mart bags on the floor near the front door, and it was clear those were making the noises. It was also clear why. Neither the ceiling fan nor the air conditioner were on at the time, and, upon checking the frog's barricade, he was nowhere to be found.

Thinking he had gotten himself into one of the bags and figuring that might work to my advantage, I gingerly stepped toward where I believed the frog to be. I bravely took hold of one of the bags, but there was no frog inside. And there was no frog inside the second one either. I continue to investigate, only to find him behind a large vase that we keep in the corner of the living room just inside the front door. He look all scared and innocent and like he really just wanted his mom.

Well, I wasn't falling for that trick; I wanted my mom too!

But I figured everyone's day would end properly if I could just get him outside. I didn't want to hurt him or kill him or even scare him. I just wanted him out of my house so I could go to bed in peace. So I grabbed my yet-to-be-helpful plastic bowl and a flip flop that was lying nearby. I nudged the frog lightly with the shoe (it was Brandon's), and he moved slowly toward the open front door. I nudged him a little more, and he hopped right out.

I wen to bed feeling a little bit triumphant and incredibly relieved.

But I have not overcome my fear. In fact, I think this incident may have made it worse. Everywhere I look now, I see frogs. They're on the couch pillows, under the ottoman, or rusting those bags again. They're jumping all over the patio (those ones are actually real, though) and sitting in the driveway waiting for me to open my car door so they can intrude on that space too (those ones aren't).

They are seriously everywhere. And I do know for a fact that it is all in my head, but that's just the thing – I got the frog out of my house, but I cannot get him out of my mind! It's possible I'll need therapy for the trauma. Or I may just move to Alaska. I'm pretty sure they don't have frogs there.