Sitting on the doorknob, acting like he owns the place, waiting for someone to come along and let him in. Isn’t that just like a toad?
(I’m not making this up. There was a toad on Aunt Alex’s doorknob. I took him and gently put him down in the garden. I didn’t do what I want you to do when a toad shows up at your door, Friends, which is call the cops and ask for a restraining order.)
(Actually, it’s a frog. But Aunt Alex is exercising her blog-given right to be a drama queen.)