Don't Touch My Frog

Last weekend Joe and I went to Jersey, where he grew up, and stayed at his mom's house. His mom now lives in an over 55 retirement community, with rows and rows of one story white houses and perfect tiny lawns where you expect little boys to come out and bounce a ball in unison (or old men to come out and mow their lawn in synchronized patterns). We had a cookout on the patio and I grilled the meat (Yeah! Huah!). And there's nothing like drinking beer with Joe's 94 year old grandpa.
We went to the driving lane later. I had never hit a golfball in my life. I tend to try and hit it like a softball, which means I miss it by about 3 feet. So Joe played the golf instructor and showed me how and I actually managed to hit it pretty good by the end. There were beavers roaming across the range, but I never hit it far enough to even get close. I saw his childhood home, and we pretended we were in high school and made out by the lake.
The next day we went to the Jersey shore. It was COLD. I had to wear a sweatshirt, but it was actually very nice. We walked along the beach and on the boardwalk and, yes, made out under the boardwalk. We ate pizza, funnel cakes, and orange and vanilla twisted ice cream (which is apparently pretty old school). Check out Joe's post on the ice cream. And, of course, we played ski ball. I kicked Joe's butt 2 out of 3, but somehow he got more tickets than me. I think he played another game than I did. With our precious points we scored a bouncing ball, a plastic bracelet, and a frog on a keychain who sticks out his tongue when you squeeze him. Yeah, I know. Totally worth $6.
So I bring my frog to work to sit on my desk. My desk I have to share with another person. My desk I don't get to have until I've been at work for 2 hours trying to look busy. The next day, my frog is turned backwards, facing the wall. Poor blue froggy. I turn him back. Then next day he's turned again. So I figure maybe his googley eyes freak her out, so I left him. The next day he was GONE. Death and destruction. Anger. Yanking of cords and moving of TV sets. Eventually I found him on another girl's desk. WHY ARE YOU PEOPLE TOUCHING MY FROG? So now I have to take him home. That was the point of my story, basically. How I am mistreated at work.