Daisy Bateman

Watch Out For Frogs*

When we last spoke** I mentioned that I was back from Vegas, and then vanished again. Not, as you might imagine, to sleep off the hangover, but to head up the coast for a relaxing long weekend in Bodega Bay, a place with no showgirls at all. It was a lovely trip that was exciting for several reasons, but I’m going to talk about the frogs.

We were staying at my family’s vacation place***, which we call the Barn because that’s what it is. But there’s a shower and a microwave and a wood stove and stuff, and lots of books and it all quite nice as long as you don’t mind a bit of nature in your days.

Also, under your phone. But we’ll get to that in a minute.

I guess you really can’t blame the frogs for moving in. For much of the time the Barn is dark and quiet, with a pretty good supply of things that frogs eat and a total dearth of things that eat frogs. I’d come across one on a previous trip, living in the toilet tank, which inspired me to try and coin the euphemism “Excuse me while I go talk to the frog.” It didn’t catch on.

So it wasn’t a total shock when I went to look for the password for the wifi and found two frogs living under the modem. And another, slightly larger one tucked in a nook under the phone. But it was definitely a surprise.

There were three in the bathroom; not immediately evident but almost always around. It was an amphibian Where’s Waldo, only with fewer people in medieval costumes falling off ladders and more hand towels.

One thing I decided is that being a frog must be pretty boring, because they seemed to take to the fact that they had an audience with enthusiasm. The game seemed to be to see who could come up with the best place to be hiding when I came across them, with some points for dropping off the top of the medicine cabinet when I opened it and perching on the shampoo first thing in the morning and a nearly game-winning play that involved climbing into my toiletries bag when I took it into the bathroom at night and waiting there until I went to get my deodorant in the morning. But the honors went to the player who hid in the sink drain until I came to wash my hands, and looking at me accusingly through the soap suds.****

It was like a frog vaudeville in there.

*Fifty nerd points to anyone who gets that reference.
**Blogged, whatever.
***”Cottage” in Canadian.
****Handy fact: Mrs. Meyer’s Clean Day hand soap is apparently non-toxic to frogs. They should put that on the label.

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