Note to Housesitter

Feed the frogs. Do not forget. Twice a day, two pinches.

Please don’t smoke in my office. My wife smokes in every other corner of the house, so feel free to light up in any other place. Just not in my office. My wife, she’s a horrific smoker. Two packs a day, through her mouth, out her nose. In one hole and out the other in obnoxious drags. She’s coughing every day, that raspy nicotine hacking all over the place. Doesn’t even cover her mouth because she’d have to put down her cigarette.

Febreze everything, aside from my office. There’s a few spray bottles under the sink – use them all. Please, spray everything. She hates the smell of Febreze so my only chance to get rid of the smoke stench is when she leaves. And open the windows, but not the one by the terrarium. She panics, thinks the frogs will hop out the entire three feet to the sill.

I’m sorry. I feel as though this might be inappropriate, but I have to; you’re a female. Do you think its normal for a fully grown woman to be raising frogs? I mean, I used to work in the city, so I didn’t know what she used to do all day. Now, I work out of my home office (which reminds me, water the plants in the office, they are not plastic), so I see what she does. She’s with them all day. I come out of my office for lunch (there’s fish sticks and such in the fridge if you get hungry) and I find her there, hovered over the terrarium, smoking of course, cooing, stroking, whispering in their ears. You might ask yourself if frogs even have ears. They do, behind their eyes. I don’t even know if my wife knows this.

It would be one thing if she was educated about these frogs. But she’s not. She’s never taken even the slightest interest in any science, let alone biology. There’s even a few books about reptiles and amphibians in our study, but she hasn’t touched them. I have leafed through them in a search for answer to questions like ‘why does my wife give her love to amphibian?’ This answer is not in Amazing Reptile and Amphibian Records or Carter’s Biology Handbook. There are mostly fun facts.

I can tell you frogs have the strangest breeding habits. In South America, the Surinam toad mates in water. Fellars are eight inches long, so it must be bizarre to see them in the act. The female releases eggs right then and the male fertilizes them and presses them into her back. They lay like that for a few hours while a cyst grows around the cluster of eggs. The male hops off, goes on his way, and for a few months the female carries them around in this crusty pouch on her back until it splits, releasing the baby frogs. Absolutely strange.

The locked door is a nursery. Please just stay away from it.

As far as the bedrooms go, you can sleep in any guest bedroom. Might I recommend the blue one; the down comforter always puts me right to sleep, regardless of how stressed I am. There are more sheets in the closet in the master bedroom. Feel free to use whatever you like. You’ll no doubt find the bottle of lubricant by the bedstand, next to her ashtray. Don’t judge me. She’s into it. I never really tried it before her, but she really wanted to. It’s amazing she ever got pregnant, because I swear we have anal more than the garden variety sex. (Don’t worry about the garden. Haven’t really got around to growing anything yet. Our old house had a little plot next to the screen door. I used to grow wildflowers. But this neighborhood code is strict about landscaping; only shrubs in the front.)

Another fun fact. I can tell you that frogs can live without food or air for a whole year. If they have air, they can survive for over two years. Sometimes, when they are young, they crawl through a small crevice in a rock to get at some insects inside. They gorge themselves, only to grow so large they can no longer leave through the crack. So they wait to die. One year, two years.

I suppose that’s not a horrible way to go. Two whole years to achieve inner peace, balance, readiness for the afterlife. Our last housesitter, little Spanish maid, devout Catholic, told my wife there was no room in heaven for her frogs. And she also told my wife smoking is a sin, a betrayal by poisoning God’s earthly temples with ash. We had to get a new house sitter.

Please don’t forget to feed the little squirts. Their food is next to the terrarium. Twice a day, two pinches.

Anal sex really isn’t that different. Takes a bit more preparation, little more pre-planning. I’m sorry, I hate to bring it up again, but I did once and I don’t want you to think we are strange. Forgive me, we are new to this whole middle-upper-class thing. We moved into this place right after I got my promotion a year ago. Maybe because I work here now it doesn’t feel like home yet. Aside from the stench of smoke everywhere. This house is just so big. She wanted a big house for the little guy on the way, but the little guy didn’t make it, so we’ve got this big empty space that still manages to suffocate me. I’m glad we are getting away from a bit. I was beginning to feel like one of those frogs inside a rock.

Darwin’s frog, lives in South America. Female lays thirty eggs, and the male guards them for two weeks. Get this: he hops around with them in his mouth for two whole weeks. Thirty little droplets grow, feed on their yolks, ooze out of their eggs, and jump out of their father’s vocal pouch already half an inch big. Incredible. The responsibility. I think my wife wasn’t ready for it. All she worried about was getting a new house so our kid wouldn’t be cramped. She smoked up until the day we lost him. She went on an IV for a few days. On the way home, she made me stop to get some cigarettes. There was a pet store down the road. She bought her frogs.

These things are sad. I was sad. But they happen to everyone. They don’t mean we throw everything away and give our love to amphibians, you know? Aside from the frogs and the anal sex, we really aren’t interesting people. Don’t bother looking for anything else strange. There’s a safe in my office that just contains paperwork and a few invaluables. Nothing interesting in the medicine cabinet, just run of the mill Aspirin, Tylenol, Nyquill. Speaking of which, you know the phrase, frog in the throat? Originated in the middle ages. They used to think that the best way to cure a sore throat was to actually place a frog in ones mouth. The slime from the frog’s skin would coat the throat, apparently counteracting the victim’s phlegm.

Might I share a joke with you? Again, most likely inappropriate, but now that I work here I don’t have much contact with coworkers. I have to tell someone this. I’ve found a rather amusing solution to my “situation” – my wife’s smoking, her frogs, the anal sex. I was thinking about sticking a few of her frogs up her ass to satisfy whatever that sexual… need is. Maybe it could crawl up through her and sit in her throat for a while to cure that cough. In one hole and out the other.