came for a kiss

Because we said we'd never forget it until our hairs turn gray.

Part I

It was past midnight when suddenly, Clyde’s shriek jarred the silence and she flew across the room towards me. I was looking at her in amazement (and askance) when she explained to me that there was a frog in the house.

As this had never happened before, I trooped forward to investigate to where she said it was and sure enough, I saw a small, green frog sitting motionless on one side of my metal bookcase.

I found it funny. I looked back at Clyde and said to her, “Clyde! The frog came to you for a kiss!” I was laughing.

Shuddering at the ickiness of the situation, she immediately set me about getting rid of the frog and so we produced plastic bags to induce a capture. The plan was to trap the frog inside and then throw it out.

Abbey, meanwhile, had come down after hearing the commotion from upstairs and she helped me to capture the frog as its very presence was striking Clyde immobile.

We were quite successful. Using something long and cylindrical like a stick, Abbey prodded the frog and it jumped into the plastic bag I was holding out just beneath it. Unfortunately, once it was inside and the plastic bag was moving and jerking, I screamed idiotically and dropped the bag. The frog, of course, hopped out.

We located the frog and saw that it had gotten inside an open-space cabinet. Deciding that plastic bags were not the way to go, we got out a shoebox that had a small hole on one side. We decided it was perfect. We could stick a stick through the hole and catch the frog that way without having to come very near it.

So Abbey led the operation and with the stick in hand on the end of which was the shoebox, she spoke gently to the frog: “Froggy, we’re just going to get you and release you out to the trees where you belong…”

I was holding a flashlight to spotlight the frog where it was so we could see it. But just when Abbey closed in on it with the shoebox, the frog sprang out in a leap and made straight towards my feet, darting about it, causing me to scream again hysterically and dance an impromptu tinikling.

“Ho, no! Ho, no! Whoa, I didn’t expect that!” Abbey exclaimed, shaking her head. She had leapt backwards as well from the frog’s unexpected forward jumping assault.

Afterwards, we hunted the frog and shadowed it. It crawled across our whitewashed wall and then gave an amplified leap into our kitchen where it entered utensil territory.

We continued in our mission to drive it away and as part of that, I opened a side door that led to an outdoor washing area, hoping to lead the frog out from indoor premises.

I got out a broom and with it, I ventured to shoo the frog out while inanely shouting at it to “Go outside, frog, go outside!” But it bounded opposite the wide-open door and came at me instead, causing me to drop my shooing weapon and scamper across the floor to a couch, into which I jumped, wailing and crying without tears, “I can’t do this, I just can’t do this!”

Abbey laughed at the whole sub-incident and said, “I know who the frog is. It’s TL Jorge! It keeps coming at Ate Cor!”

(to be continued...)


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