Just the very thought of it has me quivering in my green slimy skin.

My youngest son and daughter-in-law had just flown in from Seattle for an all too short visit. We decided to go out to dinner because neither household owned a table to hold thirteen for dinner.

The restaurant, one of those built before the transition of a from sleepy seaside village to thriving metropolis. In the bar there is an aging DJ plays tunes from 60’s & 70’s Thurs. thru Sun. nights. They have a rather extensive menu and a reputation for good food.

We are all chatting amiably,. The waitress takes our drink order and hands out the menus. Then it happened. Right there for God and everybody to see…..third item down in appetizers sandwiched between conch chowder and gator tail nuggets……FROG LEGS

My heart sank, tears welled in my sees and I was rapidly sinking into that “fight or flight” mode. Was my secret identity going to be revealed? Would my entire extended family soon know I was “froggy”, the bathrobe, curlers in hair froggy on PC.

Then to add insult to injury, my daughter in law says to the waitress “I’ll have an order of frog legs, grilled please with sauce on the side.” In that instance I thought I was going to faint. I quickly excused myself to go throw cold water on my face.

By the time I returned to the table, conversation had degraded to…..
“I use to cry when Mom fixed them because I thought we were eating Kirmet.”
“Do you prefer them fried or grilled”
“I use to hate cooking them, you know the legs jump in the pan when you fry them.”

That was it, the final straw, I jumped up, threw my napkin on the table and without thinking yelled….He**, you would jump too if your legs had been severed from your body and thrown in a hot skillet!”

There was dead silence. Reality returned with a jolt and I meekly returned to my seat.