It’s Friday.  We are looking forward to a fun-filled weekend and I would like to get the house straightened up before it starts.  Earlier this morning I strapped myself into an old bra and put on an ancient t-shirt and pants in preparation for some cleaning.  My strategy was to tackle the downstairs first by vacuuming the carpet and furniture.  I wasn’t just going to scoot along the carpet in the high-traffic areas.  No  no.  I decided to really vacuum.  Move the furniture and attack the baseboards in addition to the rest of the carpet.  Maybe some of you do this on a regular basis.  If you are one of those people, I now hate you.  Just kidding, somewhat.

I turned on my party-mix music to get me hyped for cleaning.  After a few rounds of dancing around Destro, I pulled out the vacuum and got started.    Vacuuming, vacuuming, singing put a ring on it put a ring on it, vacuuming, moving furniture……


Dear God,

It’s me, Alissa.  You have blessed me with a wonderful husband and a quirky but loveable dog.  I am 26 years old.  I know I am a grown woman, but please, God, when I open my eyes, please let whatever the H that is on my carpet be gone.  Gone like vanished, completely.  Leaving no trace of its existence. 

Thank you, Lord Baby Jesus,


I opened my eyes and it was still there.  I took a few steps closer to it and realized that it was a dead frog.  A DEAD FROG.  Under my couch.  Okay, here a few questions that went through my head:

1. What the F?

2. Why?  Why is there a dead frog under my couch?

3. How did it get under there?

4. How long has it been there?

5. Maybe I should vacuum under the couch more often?

6. What was it thinking going under the couch?  What a stupid F’ing frog.

You’re so stupid!  You stupid F’ing frog!

7. What do I do now?

8. When will The Hubbs be home?

I immediately send text messages to my friends and The Hubbs.  I call my mother and wonder why she isn’t picking up the phone.  Doesn’t she know I need her right now?   Shouldn’t she have some sort of weird feeling in her womb because I’m in distress?  Isn’t that what happens to mothers or is that twins?  Whatever.  Why isn’t she picking up?  Okay.  I call my neighbor.  She’ll know what to do or at least be able to provide some emotional support.  She doesn’t pick up either.  CRAP.  Who does she think she is having her own life?

At this point, I have been sitting across the room staring at the dead frog.   Destro is aware that something funky is up and is not leaving my side.  I notice my camera on the coffee table next to me and take a picture of the dead frog.  Here is said picture:

 Frog Carcass

And another:



I keep waiting for someone to call me back.  Destro and I go outside in the backyard.  I do this because I have decided that by moving the couch I have disturbed the carcass and it is now leaking deadly toxins into the air of my house and it would be unhealthy for us to remain indoors.  Plus, I needed to think, strategize, come up with some way to…eck…get rid of it.

I am 26 years old.  I am a grown woman.  What if I weren’t married?  What if I lived alone?  It is entirely implausible for me to stay outside and wait on The Hubbs’ work day to end .  I WILL NOT call him and ask him to leave work and come home to get rid of it.  I can do this.  I am confident that it is dead and will not move when I try to pick it up.  PICK IT UP.  Oh, geez.  How am I going to do that?

I equipped myself with my pink cleaning gloves, two grocery bags and about 10 paper towels.  I stood a few feet away from the carcass.  Destro was by my side momentarily and then ran behind the coffee table.  So much for support.  I had already cleared a path so that as soon as I got it in the bags I would be able to run out the back door and throw it in the trash outside.

Oh, Lord.  Lord, help me.

I approached the carcass and then backed off.  I couldn’t do it.

Oh, Lord, please.  Please give me the courage.  Please don’t let the legs stick to the carpet as I pick it up.  Oh, Lord please don’t let its innards gush out.

I approached it again.  No luck.  I had to back off.  I wasn’t ready. 

On my third try, I decided to throw the paper towels on top of the carcass so that I couldn’t look at it anymore.  I made sure my bags were in place over my hand.  It was just like picking up dog poop, right?  DOG POOP THAT HAS BEEN UNDER THE COUCH AND DRIED TO THE CARPET.

Oh, Lord.

I finally picked it up.


….running to the door…outside….opening the trash can…done.

It was too early in the day for a drink.  If only there were cake.

Fortunately, none of its remains remained on the carpet.

What a great way to celebrate the end of summer. 

R.I.P. Frog.