Gina, Frank, Harvey, Paul...

The toads are back.  Last night when I walked out to get in my car I counted seven.  I hate toads, and am scared to death that a) one is going to somehow jump into my car when I open the door and I wont be able to get it out and/or b) I will accidentally step on one and squish/mame it and/or c) the toads will gang up and corner me in a dark alley and slime me to death.  Okay, maybe not that last one, but it could happen.  Who knew the trip to my car could be so terrifying?  When I was little I read somewhere that if you were scared of something, you should give it a name and that would make it less scary.  I tried that with spiders, but no matter how many names I gave them, I was always sure they were going to wait until I was asleep and then lay eggs in my ears and bite me on the face.  I would make Banana get up and kill them for me, and when she started refusing, one of my best ideas ever came to me: I used the swiffer to kill it.  The swiffer has a large flat area at the end and a long pole so you don't have to get close enough to the bug for it to really attack you. Genius, I know.  On the way back into my apartment last night, I decided to name the toads.  I don't know if it helped.  I passed a Jezebel, Theo, Gary, Freddy and Seymour.  Here is to hoping that I do not contribute knowingly to toad casualties in the deep South this spring.