Batrachophobia

August 31, 2013

It all started on a beautiful summer’s morning about 15 years ago.

I was taking my boat across Charlotte Harbor to Bull Bay for some Snook fishing. I had just reached the mouth of the bay when I glanced at the steering wheel. There attached to the wheel was a monster pale yellow Cuban tree frog. I jumped back with a start and stared at the bug-eyed amphibian in terror.
Just then a puff of wind came up and the pale devil flew onto my neck, holding on tight with his creepy little hands.
Terrorized, I slapped at him frantically, knocking him into the water.
Still trembling, I search the cooler for a beer to settle my nerves.

cuban tree frog
Fast forward to last week,

Coming home after dinner with some friends, I parked my car and walked to the elevator. Pushing the button, while I waited for its  arrival, I glanced down and saw the hideous yellow frog again. Now while my cognitive brain said it is not the same one, the rest of me wanted to flee in terror fearing amphibian revenge.

Just then the elevator arrived and the door opened. Before I could enter, the monster jumped into the conveyance and stuck himself onto the wall…again with his creepy little suction hands.

I slipped into the other side of the elevator and pushed my apartment number, all the while watching the damn thing and waiting for another attack.

As the elevator rose, I thought, what if he jumps out into my apartment? What will I do?

The door opened and I backed out of the elevator keeping a sharp eye on the yellow terror. After what seemed like a millennium, the door closed and I was free of the monster.

But wait, I have to go out in the morning. What will happen after a night in th elevator? Surely the evil amphibian will be more blood thirsty than ever.

All night long, I tossed and turned thinking how I might deal with this dangerous situation.

The next morning, armed with my tennis racquet, I pushed the call button and waited for the elevator door to open. I was fully prepared to knock the demon back to Cuba if I had to.

When the door opened, I peered into the elevator. To my surprise and relief, the frog was gone.

After making very sure, it was safe, I then rode down to the garage to retrieved my car.

As I was leaving, I waved to my neighbor, a sturdy little old lady who always reminds me of Mrs. Santa Claus. She was walking back to the elevator with a broom. I said “hi” and asked what she was doing sweeping so early.

She replied, she had just shooed a nasty frog into the grass.

Thank God for little old ladies with brooms.

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