Thursday, June 6, 2013

Bugs, frogs, Benedryl and vodka



This month's prompt at Absolute Write Blog Chain:
Bugs

Yep. Bugs. Simple and easy. Prose, poetry, play. Fiction, nonfiction. It's all good, all bugs. 

My contribution to this month's blog chain is stretched a little bit. The main character is a frog but I did mention bugs. There is a link in this post from last year that I read over and decided that my writing is getting rusty and that pisses me off. If anyone knows of any other online writing prompts please direct me.
Also please be sure to read my fellow bloggers posts for this bug prompt. Their links are below my post.


I firmly believe that God gives you what you can handle. And I can handle my three boys doing all of my yard work. Some people like to work around in the yard. But I, on the other hand, prefer not to have bugs flying around my head, sweat dripping down my face and frogs jumping out from under my fallen daffodils very closed to my gloved hand. I can’t understand what people see in this activity especially when the internet is up and running.

But I dragged myself outside with my necessary spring clean up tools to the side of the house. The side where I usually start every summer, the side that is all that ever gets done because I give up when something either bites me, crawls on me or in this case jumps out from its secret hiding place where it has been laying in wait for just me and only me. I believe it is a sign telling me to get back in the house and pour myself a cocktail while making a list of landscaping chores for my three able bodied offspring. The ones that I carried in my womb for nine months each and rounding it off about 12 hours of labor for each also.

This is when the sneezing factors in followed by the Benedryl that I have washed down with orange juice laced with vodka. By this time I really don’t care what my yard looks like because I have a pretty good buzz going on.

Once this frog made its move, I cried out in surprise, dropped my garden tools, snapped some pictures and ran in the house. The husband sat in his recliner watching a baseball game,

“Did you hear me yell?” I know he heard me.

“Huh?”

“Just now. Did you hear me yell?”

“I don’t …….. the bases are loaded.”

“I was attacked by a cross species of toad and I don’t know what the hell. You have to come see this thing.”

“There are 2 outs ………”

“I’m not going to let this go until you tell me if this creature is poisonous.”

His head had never turned away from the TV. There was a long pause and then a string of baseball profanity and he directed his attention towards me,

“Do what now?”

Still with my bright yellow garden gloves on my hands I made a gesture with one finger and then placed them on my hips, took a deep breath and reiterated,

“Come outside with me and take care of a mutant toad that is trying to kill me.”

“A mutant toad?”
”I don’t know what the hell it is, I took a picture but I want you to see it in person.”

With his interest peeked, he finally followed me to the side of the house. Yep, ‘it’ was still there.

“It’s a frog.”

“That’s isn’t a frog. Maybe part frog. Maybe a frog and a toad had sex and this is what they produced. This doesn’t look like anything the boys use to bring home from the pond.”

“It’s a frog. Give me the shovel.”

“What are you going to do with the shovel? This is where the bunny met it’s demise I can’t have frog blood on my hands too.”

“I’m going to scoop it up and put it in the woods so you can get back to work.”

I began to laugh,

“I’ve been out here for 50 minutes already, I’m done for the rest of the summer. My eyes itch, my nose is running and I’m seriously freaked out. I need Benedryl and vodka. You need to get those boys of yours over here.”

“Yes dear.”

“I’m going to buy some potted plants and put them on the front steps the rest of the yard and wildlife is all yours.”

“Yes dear.”