Let my people go

The locusts are in the trees, telling the world they are as randy as a teenager. Their chirping song is the insect version of Frankie crooning at Annette out on the beach. I hear them every year at this point in the season and think nothing of it -- until the events of last night.

I had thawed some chicken breasts for supper yesterday. We spent the afternoon at Lowes, Menards, and Home Depot sizing up and pricing  various options and colors for full view storm doors. We did not buy anything because the one of us not named Joe cannot make a decision. After which, we came home. I plopped on the couch to watch the Cubs give a smack-down to the evil Cardinals. The wife decided to mosey down to the mall to look for some jeans or something. I wasn't really paying attention. Sometimes when she talks it is as if I am Charlie Brown and she is the teacher. She stayed late at the mall and called to tell me she did not want grilled chicken for dinner and let us meet down at Scotty's Brewhouse on 96th Street. We did. She ordered a grilled chicken sandwich. I said nothing about that.*

The wife wanted me to follow her to Target to look at a crib. As I got in my car to come home I could see some critter perched on my wiper blade barely visible in the last remaining twilight. I thought at first it was a locust, but closer examination showed it to be a wee frog. How it got there, I don't know. I was not parked anywhere near a tree nor water. As I turned onto the street he moved around and perched on my window, just behind the mirror to avoid the slipstream. When we got to Target I parked next to the wife and showed her the frog/toad on my window. She too thought it weird. I pried him off and put him by the cart rack.

We came home watched TV blah, blah this has gone on too long already. Fast forward to eleven-something. I am heading up to bed. I step into the kitchen to get a drink and notice something clinging to the screen on the patio door. Stupid locust I imagine. I walk over and no, it is no locust, no giant moth, but rather a frog! * *  I know. Two frogs are trying to kill me in one day cannot be a coincidence. It must be a plague. Frogs. Locusts. If the water in my little fountain out back turns to blood I'm gonna crap my pants. Did anyone hear tell of the authorities finding a baby floating down the White River in a basket? Are they building pyramids over at Conner Prairie? You decide: paranoia or pattern.




* none of this is relevant but "Dude, I found a frog on my windshield and then later a different one was on my patio door" seems far less interesting and a much shorter post to me. Skip to here next time if you are a Spark Notes kind of guy or gal.

** yes I know both were probably toads, but you have to go with frog for the second plague reference. Sheesh, lighten up, Francis.