A frog in the garage is worth two ... O screw this...

Summer is finally coming. Thank goodness.

 

I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of the swallows to explain the providence of the glued nest to them and introduce them to the mongoose who in his own very happy way has become a permanent fixture in our far flung corner of Port Elizabeth.  

 He has recently been joined by a frog in the garage who arrived there while I was out of town.

 I hate frogs. I never fell for that princess kissing frog thing. Just too gross.

With frog I don't mean a petite amphibian small enough to be caught by my patent-pending frog catching tupperware system. I mean something the size of a small plate.

I pulled the car into the garage, got out, saw frog, got back in, locked doors. Considered pepper spray, thought it would be rude. Opened window.

"Hello," I said. Then I decided to be quiet as the frog menacingly jumped in my direction.

"I promise not to spray you with lethal pepper spray that I got from the crime reporter who is refusing to say where he got it from if you will leave when I open the garage door," I said.

Frog looked like he considered it and turned down my offer.  (Am not imagining it and he in fact jumped in the opposite direction and disappeared behind the washing machine where I imagined he had been hiding his froggy automatic firearms and bandanna and will at any moment reappear shooting wildly Bruce Willis-style.
 

I used the opportunity to run into the house screaming like a girl.

"How did you let this happen?" I ask the mongoose who is lounging on the stoep. Now I have to add that the mongoose, and this is not my imagination, has a way of shrugging in the way of true French person, almost throwing his hands in the air while smiling in a charming way. (Am worried about him though he has been sniffing the nest a little too often)

Without the help of the mongoose I turned to the geese.
 

"Really? I ask in the way of a woman abandoned by all. "You couldn't catch and eat one frog for me?"

They just looked at me and left another number 2 on the roof.

Briefly considered asking Love Interest to come remove frog. Decided against it as Love Interest sees these calls for help as an amphibian inspired booty-call and currently not sharing the same Golden Retrieveresque enthusiasm for us as he is. Also there really is not strong and sexy way to ask for help with a frog even if a confrontation might result in a Terminator-style froggie shoot-out. Also I have a feeling that he is as scared of frogs as I am but pretends not to be - most deducing this from the number of glasses of wine he drinks afterwards - and it now makes me feel like an employee of Guatanamo Bay.

So, philosophically I did nothing. And the frog disappeared. Leaving me with another problem: There is only thing worse than having a frog in the garage and that is not knowing where the one in the garage is.