That's right-- I kissed a toad.
And I liked it.
I always like kissing toads. It's seriously one of my favorite things to do.
Toads are one of those little omens that mark special moments in my life. I can trace major plot curves through warty kisses. I kissed a toad the night before I fell in love for the first time, I kissed a toad in the rain the first time I broke up with someone, I kissed a toad the first night we moved back to Roswell. And last night, after my friend's very odd but joyous wedding and before baby Shmoo comes to be, I kissed a toad yet again.
I never think they're going to turn into princes, and I never have. And I wouldn't want them to, because who needs a spoiled little nutter with a pageboy getting in the way of my machinations. I know they're just random little amphibians, hopping around, doing random amphibian things. And yet, for me, they are a source of hope and joy and renewal. I love the way their fat, dry little bodies nestle in my hand, their little throats pulsing. I love the way they blink when they find themselves being smooched by enormous, fleshy giants. And I love that they always remind me that good things are going to happen. I think this toad both blessed Ryan and Urfa's unholy union and gave me the karmic thumb's up for Shmoo's arrival. That's one busy toad!
So, in conclusion, I encourage you to kiss toads. Or find whatever signs the world sends you and love them. I remember, a few months before Cleo was due to arrive, I was sitting in a chair in the backyard, reading one of my favorite books (w00t!, Outlander, w00t!), when I felt something on my foot and looked down to find an Eastern kingsnake crawling over my foot. I found this to be a tremendously positive omen and watched him the rest of the afternoon. And look how cool Cleo is! Seriously, that snake knew was it was heralding.
And so did this toad. Thank you, toad, for visiting. Also, thank you for not carrying herpes or leprosy or anything gross, like an armadillo.
Although I would have kissed an armadillo, too.