Fear of the Frog and the Toad

Slimy, or rough, smooth, or lumpy, they all give me large goose bumps, like having mosquito bites covering my body as soon as they are present. Whether it is one amphibian or another, it doesn't matter, they all fill my stomach with fluttering, anxious butterflies; the kind that one should feel when singing a solo in front of 1,000 people, not while glancing at some silly grimy frog or toad. The myth has always been that these nasty creatures penetrate warts hiding beneath the body's epidermis layer, but I would never get close enough to one of them to be able to supply an answer to that myth. Between the ugly illustrations in the children's book The Frog and Toad and the heaping amounts of the small, adolescent amphibians that lunge themselves towards my feet while mowing the thick sod in my backyard, it's hard to tell which one triggered my fear. While this phobia, Ranidaphobia, has rapidly grown as the years have gone on, these mysterious, googly-eyed, ugly creatures seem to be multiplying even faster. They don't just rest on top of their lily pads now, but they lurk under warm, soft hot tub covers and cling to the window of my car, as I try to drive with my eyes closed (not really but I wish). The frog, and toad, may seem like neat, interesting amphibians, but I am confident that they are creepy, ferocious predators.