There’s a frog in our toilet in Broome, Western Australia. I’ve tried to get him out, but he’s a clever little bugger and always manages to climb into an inaccessible little crevice where I can’t reach him.
We’re staying in a wonderful resort hotel called the Bali Hai. We stayed here five years ago and one of the reasons we came back is because we loved the outdoor bathroom that came with our room. Now don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not an outhouse. We’re in the tropics here and the toilet and shower are outdoors, accessible only through a door from our room, so we can shower out in the warm, inviting tropical breezes. It’s very cool. And, of course, the fact that the toilet is outdoors also makes it easier to understand how and why a frog has taken up residence in it.
But let’s pause briefly for a little back story:
Terry Deal, one of the first people we met in San Luis Obispo, is a demented son of a bitch, which may explain why he married Sandy, a psychologist. Being married to Terry must be like living in a case study for her.
A dozen or so years ago, before we moved into our new home, Terry was telling Jamie all the things she would enjoy about life in Edna Ranch. Then he said, “But there’s one thing you have to watch out for. Rats in the toilet.”
Jamie was horrified, which was exactly the reaction Terry wanted, so he continued.
“They climb up the sewer line into the toilets. So if you get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, always turn the light on to make sure there’s not a rat in your toilet.”
Terry is a wonderful man, Jamie thought. I have immense respect for him. He wouldn’t make up something like that.
I, on the other hand, thought, Of course he would. He’s Terry Deal. Making crap up is one of his specialties. His ability to make the preposterous sound reasonable is one of the things I love about him.
Well, damn it, the woman has been turning on the light and waking me up in the middle of the night for twelve years now. I’ve told her that there are no rats in the toilet but she chooses to believe Terry because (a) He’s an esteemed educator and author, (b) He’s a doctor, and (c) He’s not her husband.
So that brings us back to the frog in the toilet in Broome, Western Australia.
Thanks to Terry Deal, Jamie is afraid to use the toilet. She’s fears that the frog will bite her on the butt. Or worse.
I hope you’re happy, Terry.
LOL 4 a long time when I read this one.
Well, if you’re moving outta SLO I guess you won’t have to worry about the rats anymore…on the other hand, I heard snakes like to lurk in the texan loos. Maybe Terry could provide some useful insight. 🙂
I’d like to thank you for your interesting article. Unfortunately I can’t because it was riddled with innuendo and muddled thinking. I have no idea how any reasonable and prudent person could draw such inane conclusions about me and how I have enlightened your wonderful wife.
I will concede one fact. I am a son of a bitch. But there agreement with your incoherent mumbling vanishes like a popcorn fart .
I don’t remember any clinical training in your background that would qualify you to diagnose dementia. And in my case qualified professionals have concluded that I see the world in new ways. That’s not dementia. And rather than playing loosely with the truth, I just see the drama in life that others miss. I also been told I have an uncanny ability to make what others deem as reasonable sound preposterous. Now, having torn gaping holes in your fragile argument, back to the case at hand.
The warning about rats in the toilet came about when my cousin Larry sat down the toilet in our guest room to relieve himself of excess waste. He picked up a magazine, settled in and felt a bump on his butt. Then another. The third bump stung. That’s when he looked down into the toilet and saw the rat – a big one. Larry came to the kitchen to report that he’d been bitten in the butt by a rat in our toilet. We asked him if it had broken then skin. He wouldn’t show us. And I suspect it did leave a scar.
Now, sight unseen, I can imagine Jamie has a nice butt. Which I was trying to protect by issuing the warning. And knowing of your feckless past with women I didn’t want a small imperfection to freak you out. And knowing that frogs in your area can be even more dangerous than rats, I am thrilled that my earlier warnings continue to keep Jamie on the alert.
I miss our Sunday brunches. They gave me some hope that I was able to make a little headway with you. Happy trails.