Dan and Lee spent a Weekend in the bush. It was an hour's drive from their home.
Leaving behind concrete, tarnished tar, speeding selfish taxis, abusive Ubers, and city smog they were greeted by the scent of Body Shop lush brush, Mountain Dew clear skies and the rich earthly dust of dirt roads. Their eyes drank in the wide open skies and the liquid OJ of the setting sun. The massaging gentle wind breezed through their hair washing over them, cooling them to relax.
As the moon ballooned, they flicked on the lights and like positives to negatives, a humdrum of creepies from short bugs with big wings, tall skinny stick insects with bow legs, leathery lizards, alpha bravo geckos, furry moths, praying mantis and unsightly critters with many hairs, skittled and crawled out from each of their lairs.
Lee squeaked and squealed as the insects arrived on the scene moving in rhythm to Michael Jackson's Thriller. Each one bobbed and weaved in unison, nipping, biting, creeping, and crawling.
With this flurry of bugs there was no way of plugging this dike.
The weekend flashed. Sunday arrived.
Dan's alarm buzzed, he bounded out of bed, humming a Rolling Stones tune, grabbed a fluffy white towel, bee-lined to the shower, motioned to flip the mixer to warm, and there below his feet a small black blob, frightened, skedaddled along the skirting zipping beneath the ball and claw of the bath. Suppressing his screech by biting his clenched knuckles so Lee'd be unawares, he let black Frog be for keeping this little secret between 'you and me' would be their little triumph.
He then packed his shirts, her dress and jeans, both pairs,
and tossed the bags into the back of the Ecosport, bounced around on a game drive, then headed south to The Big Smoke.
Back in suburbia, Dan unpacked the luggage. Holding up each item he remarked, 'Clean, not so clean, clean, not so clean, folded, needs ironing'. Pulling out a ruffled towel, it was not alone. As a pilot ejecting from a shot down fighter jet, Black Frog burst itself from the bowels of the bag careening towards earth. Karma.
The echoes of 'Frog' sent Simba lurching into the room. Grabbing the little critter, he held it gently in his cupped hand and rushed for the door.
Once upon a time, Dan, Lee and family lived on the 4th floor of an apartment building.
Frog in hand, Simba hurtled down the corridor like a barefoot rugby player down the left wing when another kid approached. Eager for show and tell, Simba gooied anchors, ignored all instructions to keep his hands clasped, peeled them open, and Frog lurched out. Dropping to the floor, it scurried away seeking salvation beneath a door of a plumbing duct. Inspecting the duct, Dan witnessed Frog cleaving for its life like a stretched Fizzer- one foot on a drain pipe, and one foot dangling from death. Alex Honnold reincarnate.
Frog had no sure footing.
The End
Leaving behind concrete, tarnished tar, speeding selfish taxis, abusive Ubers, and city smog they were greeted by the scent of Body Shop lush brush, Mountain Dew clear skies and the rich earthly dust of dirt roads. Their eyes drank in the wide open skies and the liquid OJ of the setting sun. The massaging gentle wind breezed through their hair washing over them, cooling them to relax.
As the moon ballooned, they flicked on the lights and like positives to negatives, a humdrum of creepies from short bugs with big wings, tall skinny stick insects with bow legs, leathery lizards, alpha bravo geckos, furry moths, praying mantis and unsightly critters with many hairs, skittled and crawled out from each of their lairs.
Lee squeaked and squealed as the insects arrived on the scene moving in rhythm to Michael Jackson's Thriller. Each one bobbed and weaved in unison, nipping, biting, creeping, and crawling.
With this flurry of bugs there was no way of plugging this dike.
The weekend flashed. Sunday arrived.
Dan's alarm buzzed, he bounded out of bed, humming a Rolling Stones tune, grabbed a fluffy white towel, bee-lined to the shower, motioned to flip the mixer to warm, and there below his feet a small black blob, frightened, skedaddled along the skirting zipping beneath the ball and claw of the bath. Suppressing his screech by biting his clenched knuckles so Lee'd be unawares, he let black Frog be for keeping this little secret between 'you and me' would be their little triumph.
He then packed his shirts, her dress and jeans, both pairs,
and tossed the bags into the back of the Ecosport, bounced around on a game drive, then headed south to The Big Smoke.
Back in suburbia, Dan unpacked the luggage. Holding up each item he remarked, 'Clean, not so clean, clean, not so clean, folded, needs ironing'. Pulling out a ruffled towel, it was not alone. As a pilot ejecting from a shot down fighter jet, Black Frog burst itself from the bowels of the bag careening towards earth. Karma.
The echoes of 'Frog' sent Simba lurching into the room. Grabbing the little critter, he held it gently in his cupped hand and rushed for the door.
Once upon a time, Dan, Lee and family lived on the 4th floor of an apartment building.
Frog in hand, Simba hurtled down the corridor like a barefoot rugby player down the left wing when another kid approached. Eager for show and tell, Simba gooied anchors, ignored all instructions to keep his hands clasped, peeled them open, and Frog lurched out. Dropping to the floor, it scurried away seeking salvation beneath a door of a plumbing duct. Inspecting the duct, Dan witnessed Frog cleaving for its life like a stretched Fizzer- one foot on a drain pipe, and one foot dangling from death. Alex Honnold reincarnate.
Frog had no sure footing.
The End
