Stories of a short, fat bastard.

"Cold and clammy hands" is not the problem; it's when the little brainless bas'tids PEE all over me that makes me go "Eeeewwww!!!"

About 45 years ago I was sitting in the living room of a fancy glass-walled two-story house deep in the country (owned by an elderly cousin). It was mid-evening, summertime, and the house was air-conditioned (a luxury at the time, but then this house, in today's dollars and real estate market, would be considered an exotic million-dollar+ "country hideaway".

As a rugrat I was wearing regular cotton pajamas, sitting a chair watching TV with my parents. Suddenly a little green tree frog popped up through a "weep hole" in the track of one of the sliding glass walls (it's amazing the tiny holes those things can squeeze through) and it proceeded to purposefully hop in a perfectly straight line all the way across the room (a good 15 feet from the glass wall)---to hop and climb right up the INSIDE of my pajama leg!

I screamed and jumped up, and quickly skinned off the pajamas in a panic to get the COLD, WET frog off my leg!

Little varmit was unceremoniously tossed out into the grass, where I indignantly hoped a wandering fox/owl/raccoon would give it the demise it so richly deserved...

The whole scene was like something from a "funniest home videos" segment---but of course that was decades before home video cameras were even dreamed of.

(And thanks for the birthday wishes!)