Nasty little green monster

I was trapped outside my house tonight. I walked outside with a bag of garbage, and right as I shut the front door behind me, I felt something wet plop on my leg. A second before I looked down to see what it was, the recognition of that cold, wet smack against my skin set in.



When I was a kid, my sister and I played a really fun game. We would wait until the other one was in the shower, and we'd sneak into the bathroom with a mystery concoction (ketchup, vinegar, mustard and relish was my personal favorite) and dump it over the shower curtain, then run like hell. When the condiment creations started to get boring, my darling little sister started catching little green rain frogs and throwing them on my back while I was naked and wet and blinded by shampoo suds. Those little frogs haunt me to this day.



So back to tonight... right as I looked down, the frog on my leg jumped upward. Terrified it was about to land on my face, I jumped backward, falling over the bag of garbage and into the damp grass. I ran down the sidewalk and hid behind the car, peeking around the side to see where the demonic amphibian had landed. There he was, sitting right in the middle of my front door. I was stranded.



I sat outside, hiding behind the car for a full five minutes before my legs solidified enough to walk back towards the front door. I picked up a handful of mulch and started tossing pieces toward the frog. If you've ever tried to hit a target with a piece of airborn mulch, then you know that it's not really heavy enough to throw more than two or three feet with any kind of accuracy. There was no way I was getting that close to the front door. I rummaged through the car and found two pens, a wadded up napkin (which, for future reference, was no more effective than the mulch) and three happy meal toys.



I attacked. I made contact at least twice, but the frog remained suctioned to the door. I swear he was laughing at me. He kept looking over his little green shoulder smirking at me. I shudder at the thought of it even still.



I was out of ammo. I tried yelling at him, but he ignored me. That's how I know it was a male frog. He even looked at me, but clearly believed that my threats of a frog leg dinner were just that - threats. I threatened to spray him with fix-a-flat, and he chuckled. I even threatened to tell his frog mommy, and I swear he rolled his eyes at me.



I was out of options. I ran around to my son's bedroom window and started screaming for him to go get my husband. He came racing outside, probably assuming something trivial had happened like a broken leg or a severed limb. When I told him of my woes, he did the expected thing - he laughed. He laughed loud and long and clear. He laughed so hard that I expected him to float up into the sky a la Mary Poppins. Butthead.



He flicked the frog off the front door so I could run past into the house, but I know the nasty little thing is still out there. I can sense his sliminess on the other side of the door, waiting for me to walk outside without a poncho for protection. He's probably calling all his little frog buddies, preparing a mass sliming next time I open the door.



Lord, help me.