Frog

My husband was in the bathroom (I know, good start to a story, right? :) ) and he pops back out after what I know to be after 7 years of marriage--WAY to short of a time. Holding his pants together and up with one hand he points back into the bathroom and says (in a manner best described as put out), "there is a teeeny tiny toad in the bathroom". I leap to my feat to investigate such an anomaly (I have removed many a baby lizard, metric-crap-ton of spiders, and am currently planning on chemically eradicating a mess o' ants which have colonized my vanity. The ants seem to have bitch-slapped the termites into submission so I have mixed feelings on the buggers).
Inside my bathroom on the ledge leading into the shower is an ADORABLE white tree frog. Fyi: these are TOXIC (yet still cute)to dogs (cuter). So, the little bugger needed to be removed from the domicile (before Life ate it, she has a thing for reptiles). Husband and I debated various methods (tissue box--cause we are lazy and that was in the bathroom--or hands). I went with hands. I carefully leaned down, placed my hands around it, gently scooped it up and it FREAKED. Leapt from my hands while leaking out liquid like a sieve. I, the calm biologist who used to deal with a ton of reptiles on a daily basis yelled (loudly), "YOU PEED ON ME--I HATE YOU!!!". Then washed my hand. Once I retrieved some gladware from the kitchen I caught it and let it go outside. I then tossed the gladware in the trash like the environmentally irresponsible person I have become (I drive an SUV now!!! I retired my "green" shirt--I feel like too much of a hypocrite), then the husband went back into the restroom only to come out defeated. The little frog had scared his poop away.
(And he would be SO happy that I said that)
Goodnight all!