plague or prince?

Two frogs.

That's it so far.

At 8:24 this morning I plodded up the steps to the realm of the living (whether I belonged there just yet was debatable) and, as morning routine would have it, I found myself in my bathroom.  Not that I harbor particularly negative or positive feelings toward my bowels, but I don't generally plan on this part of the morning ritual to hold all that much excitement.  Then again, I don't generally plan to lift the toilet cover to discover a frog perched on the toilet seat, either.

photo by Christian

At 8:26, everything was processing much more slowly than merits excuse.  There I stood, in a state of consternation as only sleepy stupor can effect.  Wow, someone had taken very poor aim.  Gross.  Wait.  Even boys don't usually miss when it involves... 


At 8:27, it clicked, as I stood dumbly in the bathroom doorway, and suddenly I felt rather much infused with life.  It's one of those moments when surprise hits you like a slow-motion hammer, right between the eyes.  I was at momentary loss as whether to thank the good Lord that I hadn't sat upon the amphibious fiend or to flip out that a frog had somehow penetrated the fortress of our house.  Not to mention my comfort zone.

(Side note: I do like frogs.  Actually, toads.  Toads were a childhood favorite.  Christian and I would collect them in the evenings and build cities for them in our sandbox and then set them loose.  Frogs are significantly rarer where I live.  And they can climb, which made them no fun for easy capture.)

After gathering my wits back up off the floor, remembering the harmlessness of the intruder, and reestablishing my long-held affection for his kind, I conveniently recalled my mother's profound disgust for slimy critters.  So naturally, I fetched her.

Froggy was promptly evicted.

A considerably less eventful shower followed, as did brushing of teeth and a morning Bible study.  Later logging onto my computer, however, was accompanied by a muffled shriek emanating from my parents' bathroom.

Froggy had apparently told friends about his morning exploits, as a fellow of his had followed suit and discovered my parents' commode.  Unfortunately, Mama did not discover him until he had become rather intimately acquainted with her unsuspecting hind quarters.

Eviction number two.

This frog invasion has never happened before.  I have never heard of this happening before.  To anyone.  And like I said, we don't even have frogs where I live - especially considering our resident army of cats and one wired dog.

This leads me to conclude only one possible explanation: divine intervention.  And of course, there exist only two reasonable interpretations thereof: in short, plague or prince.


Plague?
Admittedly, after the second frog, Moses came to mind.  As a firstborn, I have a lot at stake if this turns out to be anything Biblical.  There have been no further frog episodes, but I'll keep you posted.  If cows start dying or we break out in boils, I'm finding me a Fluffy (fellow Mark Meehl students, you know what I mean).


Prince?
May I be a transparent, silly girl with you?  After recovering from the initial shock of finding the 8:26 frog, my first thought was - not kidding - maybe I should kiss it.  Granted, that thought didn't linger excessively, but it was there.  It wasn't until later that I regretted my decision to refrain.  You see, not too long ago, I had a heart-to-heart with God about the woes of singlehood.  Clearly, this was his answer: he had provided a prince.  On a porcelain throne, no less.  And - tragedy! - I had cast my prince outside!  Alas!

As I lay reflecting upon my self-inflicted misfortune, a muffled shriek heralded redemption.

It's certainly interesting, isn't it, how an object pined after is somehow less desirable upon its reception?  Especially when it is slightly flattened.  In other words, I am recently persuaded that singlehood holds remarkably undervalued advantages and opportunities.  And that making out with amphibians - royal or otherwise - is not in my future.