Frog Blog, by Lea Ann Robson

One of the orchids on my porch

How many times in your life have you cut a corner, knowing the probable outcome but somehow feeling you’ll be exempt…because you’re a good person?  You answer your cell while you’re driving…or you wear heels in weather only suited for boots.  You rock back on two legs of a chair…or you floor it to catch an orange light (yellow that changes to red while you’re under it).  You write a check to pay a bill, hoping the one you deposited has cleared & you’ll have funds to cover it. 

 

Just as it is human nature to tempt fate, we try to distance ourselves from preventable disaster…after the fact.  We pass a fender bender & think somebody involved did something WRONG (in all caps, whereas we never do anything more than wrong, all lower case).   You slip & fall flat of your arse in a snow bank, those impractical heels sticking out like an inverted turtle’s flippers.  You NEVER saw it coming…except of course you did.

 

Last night I awoke from a sofacoma, & dragged my still half asleep body around the house setting things up for my early morning today.  I washed the dinner dishes I had left in the sink, squinting to read the time on the microwave display:  3:20am.  Ugh. I set up the coffee maker, getting a short-lived boost from sniffing the freshly ground espresso roast.  I filled my dog’s food & water bowls.  I picked an outfit.  I was stepping into the shower when it hit me—I had forgotten to water the plants on the porch.  Most are orchids & several have buds, & long & short, I couldn’t ignore them.  So, clothes back on & out I went. 



One of the orchids on the porch

 

I didn’t bother to flip the switch for the porch light, thinking the less my neighbors could see of my hasty dressing job, the better.  I was happy to find my watering can full.  When I finished with the can, I uncovered the bucket of water I keep to dunk the beautiful cascading orchid that was a birthday gift for my 50^th from my best friend.  The makeshift lid doesn’t really cover the top of the bucket entirely, but I did it to discourage the frogs from setting up housekeeping & having babies in there. 

 

I have NOTHING against normal frogs.  I’m grateful they eat mosquitoes.  I even make ‘Christmas Coqui’ ornaments—styled to look like Puerto Rico’s beloved frog mascots.  Unfortunately, we don’t have normal frogs, and I’m not alone in my disdain for them. 

 

We have light sandy-white colored frogs that burrow in potting soil around your plants, or hide atop the roof support pillars of your house.   That isn’t so bad, but couple it with their attitude, & you’ve got an evil reptile.  When startled, our frogs spray liquid at you with the zeal of a department store perfume girl, trying to meet a quota.  I won’t go into what frogs spray, but trust me it isn’t perfume, & it stains. (Pause for inevitable “ICK.”)  

 

And so last night, just like the caution-light runner, or in-car texter, or inadvertent ice dancer, I pulled the lid off the bucket in the dark, knowing what might happen, but believing somehow that it wouldn’t…couldn’t…and then there was a frog on my face.  He landed with a wet, suctiony ‘SCHWAP’ on my right cheek as I slung my head violently to send him sailing off the porch & into the bougainvillea.

 

Fortunately, I didn’t think he had time to squirt at me (no doubt because I am a good person).

 

I ran back inside, dropped my clothes in a pile & stepped into the shower.

And then the power went off.