My mother does not believe in air conditioning. At least that's what I tell people. In fact, the resistance to air conditioning that my mother puts up until peak days of summer is more based in finances than any odd belief system. Anyway. This means the first month of summer vacation is spent with all the windows open, fans at breakneck speed (I mean that literally), and sheets kicked to the bottom of the bed.
Every morning through my open window I am berated by a cacophony of horny birds chirp-chirping to potential mates and whist-whistling about the glorious morning sun. Some of them even start to sound like they're saying something: one bird says "GERmaneee GERmaneee" and about ten more will join in like cats in an alleyway.
Now, in addition to the distant sound of cars driving along the road behind our house, I can hear a frog. A throaty, chirpy, froggy frog. Well hop on back to the creek, kid. I am not in the mood for your serenade.