Things suck at the moment, don’t they? The threat of nuclear war. Cyber and workplace bullying. Sexual harassment. Every pop icon of our eighties childhood dying. Terrorists. Sydney house prices.
It all sucks. There’s something to be said for the saturation of information and opinion presented as fact on social media channels encouraging severe anxiety about the aforementioned topics, but I’m participating in that right now, so I’ll save the analysis for another time.
This is a blog about a frog. And a toilet, but that didn’t rhyme.
Since my last blog (two years ago!) a lot has changed. I married the best man ever, and then convinced him to move me to the country property where he grew up. That conversation went like this on a Monday morning before work:
Me: “I can’t work corporate any more! I can’t ride Sydney buses any more! I can’t have a baby in these conditions! I can’t continue to wear non-breathable work pants!”
Me: “Let’s live in a cottage and grow vegetables and sell them at a farmers’ market!”
My Farmer Wants a Wife dream was coming true! We are now living in a cottage on a family property and we have five enormous excavated plots that I must fill with soil and vegetables. (So far, I have managed to weed for a grand total of 2 hours. In the project schedule of my life, I would say this is catastrophic on the time, budget and scope fronts.)
Lest you believe it all sounds like fresh produce and rainbows (although – it kind of is) you need to know about a particular issue that has caused me many sleepless nights.
You see, I went to the toilet one evening. It had been a relatively warm day, and I’d drunk a lot of water. I gaily entered the bathroom and moved toward the toilet.
Sitting just inside the porcelain throne was something very brown. No, not that.
This brown thing had eyes and it blinked at me. I screamed and ran.
It turns out, that thing was a frog. My husband removed it for me.
I relaxed, knowing that surely such an aberration would never occur again. Perhaps it had gotten lost in the house somehow.
But then it did.
Then it did again.
Once, one of the frogs was PURELY WHITE. Or translucent. Or half-half. All I know is, on the toilet seat was a pair of disembodied black eyes blinking at me, and the rest of it was totally camouflaged. WERE THEY BREEDING IN THE PIPES WITH NO ACCESS TO SUNLIGHT? Or was it simply a lonely albino frog? I’ll never know for sure, but this frog seemed particularly insidious. It was exactly like the Predator, when it swung between the trees and only flashed its eyes, and Bill Duke kept saying in a maniacal whisper, I see you. I did the exact same thing, but my volume wasn’t modulated.
Then, a frog turned up, hiding behind my body wash in the shower. Which is in an entirely different room to the toilet and an increased assault to my safety and security.
Do you know what it’s like to check the bathroom, shower, toilet and toilet bowl every time you enter? That level of anxiety is CONSTANT. At least in the city, I could pretend Sydney was outside the zone of Kim Jong-Un’s warhead.
If a frog can get up your toilet, it means somewhere there is an entry point in your pipes that lead to your toilet and it also means that there are two other critters that might give it a crack as well.
Let the tree change begin.