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Friday, May 9, 2014

Two Random Stories That Eventually Equate To Hating My Oldest Daughter ...

STORY ONE: The Park

A few days ago I took my son to the park for an hour or two. My oldest daughter, Emerald, was home from school and eventually she walked down to the park and met us there.

My son was playing and running around and having fun when suddenly he screamed like a man possessed. He screamed and started backing up, eventually tripping on the playground equipment. He screamed so loud that I automatically assumed that, since it is a dirty, small park in the middle of ghetto town, my son must have been bitten by some big, huge spider or something like that, something nasty, and I would have to get him to the doctor or else he was going to die some horrible, horrible death that I'd later see horribly reenacted on some nature show on some crappy cable channel.

Yeah. I usually assume the worst. Got that from my mother, actually. Thanks, mom.

No, what he found was this ...

A big frog. Or toad. Or whatever. Freaked my son's ass off.

So eventually he got over it and we all played around ...

On our way home, I made the kids say good-bye to the frog. And it jumped on my daughter's shirt and she screamed like a baby.

Being a good father, I helped her out just as soon as I took a picture ...

Then my oldest daughter did something surprising.

See, my daughter is, technically, a "tween" now. She acts like she's a sassy sixteen year old, but she's still just a tweeny bopper, though. She locks herself in her room, listens to crappy music, wears makeup, cops huge attitudes, all that typical teenage stuff.

That is why is was surprising when she put the frog on a stick and then carefully carried that stick all the way home, got a jar, and took that frog home. That was an eight year old Emerald move. She went old school.

That's how we got a frog for a pet.

I tried to get her to name it after crappy adult contemporary musician Boz Skaggs ...

... but she misspelled the name on the jar.

So we have a frog named Skiggs now.

Somewhere ...

STORY TWO: The Sleep

A few days ago I was sleeping and then I woke up.

Not a big story, this one, but stick with me on this one, okay?

When I sleep, I SLEEEEEP! I knock OUUUT! I am gone! It's like a war, my sleep. I move around, I thrash, I steal blankets, I drool, I freaking snore (but not too loud), I am just aaaaabsoluely comatose in my sleep. I am a lost cause. I can sleep through pretty much anything.

And apparently it runs in the family. Here's a video of my cousin Emmy sleeping thru the bumpiest unpaved road deep in the fields of Nowhere, Mexico ...

So, yeah, a couple of nights ago I was fast asleep, and I do mean faaaaast asleep. I was gone.

Suddenly, I felt something on my arm. I was still asleep, mind you, but I felt it all the same. It was one of those things where you're still fast asleep but you're conscious just enough to be aware of something going on but still out enough not not actually do anything about it.

I felt something on my arm.

It was tiny.

And maybe a little bit wet.

Was it the frog? Was it Skiggs, I remember thinking, but then I figured, and I'm switching to italics for emphasis, IT CAN'T BE THE FROG BECAUSE MY DAUGHTER HAS THAT SITUATION UNDER CONTROL AND I TRUST HER!

Then it jumped on my face.

And I shot awake like I was three hours late to work. I shot awake like I just realized that I had left the bathtub faucet running for the last twelve hours. I shot awake like Nazis had just kidnapped my two year old son.

I SHOT AWAKE, is what I'm saying. I shot awake so quick and unexpectedly that I woke my wife up. I woke my wife up with my own wake up.

I shot awake, brushed-slash-threw the whatever it was off of my face, and then, as a matter of reflex, I grabbed my cell phone to try and find whatever it was that had landed on my face. I never found it.

In my mind, I assumed that perhaps it was a grasshopper or some other sort of small bug.

I mean, Emerald had the frog situation under control, right?

THE END

The Aftermath:

The next day my daughter finally told me the truth: she lost her frog.

MY DAUGHTER LOST A LIVE FROG IN OUR HOUSE!!!

I fucking hate her right now.

I'll get over it, this hatred, but god fucking dammit, she let a strange ass frog loose inside our house!

I've been looking for two days now and I haven't found a single shit. The thing is that the way that that damn frog was discreetly hiding within that playground equipment, that tells me that it will honestly be a goddamn miracle if we ever find this fucking frog inside this fucking house.

Sigh.

Fucking Skiggs.

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