After a harrowing journey trying to outrun a Tropical Storm, we settled into Charleston around 9 pm--last night. Just in time for Hawks Game 4, I might add. (Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?)
As the game started, and our spazoid children earned us a "noise complaint" from below (apparently of you keep them cooped up all day in a car in a storm they get a little restless) I took them down to the indoor/outdoor pool. Its outside in that it lacks it's fourth wall---on purpose. No sooner did they start swimming when I heard a painfully loud and unpleasant siren. The other women sitting poolside did not even flinch, but they looked immersed in conversation and maybe didn't hear it.
It stopped, and I thought perhaps someone went out the emergency exit door. But then it came again. I couldn't help thinking that this was some sort of tornado or storm alarm and that we needed to "take cover." However, before pulling the spazoids from their natural environment, I interrupted the women at the pool to see if they heard the alarm as well or was I crazy?
"A tree frog," they replied as they exhaled and ashed their cigarettes.
"Seriously?!" My lack of southern twang and enthusiasm for a frog made it clear that I was not from "these parts."
"Yup, he's looking for a wife."
"Wow, " I said thinking that with that approach there must be a lot of single frogs.
"Yup. You can hear'm, but you'll never find'm. If you hear a really deep sound, that's a bullfrog."
"Fascinating," I replied and then sat through a few more audible attempts at unrequited love.
As I sat there, I tried to imagined what this "mating call" translated to...was it as simple as "who's your daddy?" or slightly more specific such as, "who has a flat screen showing game 4?"
Either way, it stopped before we got out of the pool. Some frog was getting lucky tonight, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say, probably not the one that hopped in the storm all day with the tadpoles to get to the screen in time to watch game 4.
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