Sometimes people need a cup of coffee to wake up in the morning. Other times it takes something traumatic, like a frog in the toilet. As I was getting the coffee ready, Amy interrupted my routine with the claim of a giant frog in the toilet.
So I calmly surveyed the situation, and she was in fact correct: it was a frog in the toilet (I don’t think her contacts were in because she thought it was something that usually belongs there at first). Then I grabbed some disposable gloves, a bucket, and a bit of courage, and made my way to the frog’s newly found residence.
As I reached in there to coax him into jumping nicely into my bucket, his springy legs propelled him onto the shower wall. Then to the mirror, and then onto my chest hair. My chest hair proved to be only a short stay as I, with gloved hands, pushed him into the bucket and tried to cover up as much surface area as I could with one hand.
I yelled for Amy to open the front door, and I threw him out. He landed softly onto the wall outside, and I headed quickly to the shower. My chest hair needed a good washing, since the frog had spent the night in our toilet. Not the best place to lay your head, or whatever it is that they lay.
I really didn’t need any coffee this morning, except to keep me from getting a caffeine headache.
And we learned a valuable lesson: look before lifting.