Mail Order Frog

I couldn’t believe it.

The frog had returned.

While taking out the garbage, I, once again, discovered a fat little frog huddled behind the trash cans, eyeing me nervously.

“Is that you again, buddy?”

He blinked. I took that as a yes.

“Did your lady give you the boot?”

He hopped towards me. Another yes.

“Need some help with another hook up?”

He stared silently, head cocked sideways. Maybe?

“Cuz there’s another pond around the block. I could take you over there, introduce you to the ladies.”

He hopped on my shoe. Don’t think I need to translate that.

So, that’s how I ended up as a froggy matchmaker. See, I’ve always had a thing for the underfrogs of the world.

Makes for a busy day…

“This matchmaker’s working overtime, fellas. Take a number. ALL tadpoles in the back of the line. No line jumping. No pushing. No shoving. No cutting. And, what’s with the grasshopper in the back? I don’t work with the creepy, crawly types, bud! You’re on your own.”