I hate frogs. I hate them with the fire of a thousand suns.
No, strike that. I don’t feel as if that properly conveys my sheer hatred for their kind.
I loathe frogs. I abhor frogs. I despise frogs.
Sadly, I don’t think there are enough synonyms for the word hate to describe the way I feel about frogs. They’re creepy and gross me out. They can come off the ground. I don’t like that.
And they’re deceitful. They can make themselves look like a leaf. They look dry from a distance when, in fact, they are really slimy.
You can’t trust anyone or anything that engages in this kind of trickery. Trust me, I know.
What I most dislike about them, though, is that they are unpredictable.
I was happy when I was of the delusion that no frogs, or any critters for that matter, inhabited my yard. But that delusion was shattered in this morning’s walk to the garage.
I was walking along the pathway through the backyard to the detached garage, minding my own business, when something moved alongside me and darted ahead. To say I had a moment would be an understatement. And when I saw it was a frog, I flipped out.
He was standing between me and the garage door, and I honest to God stood there on the path and played a battle of wills with a 2-inch frog.
After waiting for him to move to now avail, I said aloud, “OK, you are going to have to move.”
He just sat there.
I was certainly not going to walk over it, because what if it jumped? I was wearing open-toed shoes, which caused me to fear this outcome even more. I entertained the thought of going back into the house to change shoes, but decided it would not have enough effect on my fear level to warrant losing sight of the enemy.
I stood and thought of what to do while he continued to just sit there. I could tell he was looking at me. I didn’t like that.
I reached over the frog to open the door. Thankfully he didn’t move; I might have collapsed. My heart was already pounding and my knees were weak.
In an effort to figure out his plan of attack, I began motioning as if I was going to take a step to the right to enter the garage. When he didn’t move, I motioned to the left. Again, he did nothing.
I thought that meant he wasn’t going to move, so I summoned the courage to step over him. The moment I began to move with intention, he pivoted and then moved slightly to the left.
I jumped back and begin to loudly scorn the frog.
“I knew you were watching me and just waiting, you little jerk!”
Though I was annoyed by his action, it did put him to the left of the path, meaning I could now more easily skirt him to the right. I would be closer to him than I would like, but I knew I now had a good chance of getting inside the garage unscathed.
If you’re saying right about now, “That frog is more afraid of you then you are of it,” you are wrong.
I was just as certain as he was — maybe moreso — that he would lead to my imminent demise.
Now that I was actually late to work because of this garbage, I took one big breath and a gulp, and I decided to go for it.
In one swift motion, I jumped into the garage and grabbed hold of the door handle, slamming it behind me.
I was in the garage. I couldn’t breathe, but I was safe.
Once I regained my composure, I yelled from behind the door, “You better not be here when I get home!”
Misty Knisely, managing editor, can be reached at 574-732-5155 or via email at firstname.lastname@example.org.