Rambling Rush: A humiliating loss in the Frog Of War

What is that?

WE live in a block of flats. A little while ago we had a small snake issue, luckily it was a snake we never met. And luckily it was small.

YOU MAY BE INTERESTED IN READING IT: Rambling Rush: What not to do when you receive a visit from a slithery guest

Anyway, it wasn’t long after that incident that the wife was marching out to the car to pack school bags when she came to a sudden halt.

“What … the … heck … is … that?” she stammered, dropping the bags.

Moments later I saw it, not huge, smallish in fact, but weirdly shaped. It was on the side of the bonnet of our car.

Honestly, it looked like a poop delivered by one of those pteryodactyl birds from Jurassic Park.

This was no hadeda dropping that’s for sure, unless there’s a Frankenstein type science lab down the road breeding Robo Birds.

The wife would rather go searching for snakes, Indiana Joan style.

Getting closer to a UFO (Unidentified Feathered Offload) not so much.

So, once again I had to step up. Or step closer actually. Just a little closer. And not too fast.

Ah, but before that, I needed to be armed, in case the UFO came to life, which later it actually did.

I found a stick and ventured up to the blob, as calm as possible.

“Come on David, one of your ancestors was awarded a Victoria Cross, you can do this,” I thought.

One step closer.

“Ah man,” I said, “it’s just a little frog, looks like a tree frog.”

Okay it could be a frog…

Wife has a rabid and illogical fear of frogs. Sharks too, but seeing as though she never goes in the sea, she gets by.

“Well, pick it up then and take it away, far away,” demanded the wife.

“That’s funny,” I shot back.

I tried to casually but very gently flick Kermit off the bonnet.

Instead of taking the Short Hop to Freedom, he instead produced something that reminded me of my high school days in the ’80s, when an inebriated mate or two would attempt the ‘funky chicken’ or try to out-move Kevin Bacon in Footloose.

Basically, arms and legs going everywhere but the body not moving.

Kermit does a few break-dance moves.

I admit, I got a fright but definitely did not jump backwards. Wife disagrees about that, but there were no witnesses so I ‘deny’.

Kermit, however, was proving about as difficult to dislodge as Jacques Kallis in his cricketing prime.

“Pick him up,” enthused wife, now laughing, and laughing some more.

“Yeah right,” I said, with images of me at casualty, with Kermit’s steroid-enhanced cyborg legs latched around my fingers, slowly crushing the life out of them.

Eventually, the little guy played the game and complied after a more forceful flick.

He sat around on the tar for a bit, looking mightily ticked off, and we went off to work.

However, moments later we had to turn around to fetch a forgotten item.

Kermit was gone.

“Mmm that was quick, a bit too quick maybe,” I said, loud enough for the wife to hear.

It was time for revenge, after her mocking my loss in the Frog Of War.

“Hope he didn’t squirm in under the door, or climb through the bathroom window,” I suggested.

“Don’t … joke … please … seriously now,” said wife.

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  AUTHOR
David Rush
Sports Editor

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