The Princess and the Frog

Well, thanks a lot. That wasn't a very nice thing to do. That's the last time I invite you over to my lily pad to share a nice fresh fly - not that I suppose you'll be interested, not any more.

What upsets me most was that it was me, I saw her first. I remember it was a nice sunny day, gentle ripples on the pool, a nice breeze and the promise of many flies.

"Look over there!" I said.

"What?"

"It's - unless I'm very much mistaken - a princess."

"Right," you said and hopped off.

You sat right in the middle of the path. I was sure she would just tread on you or run off screaming when she saw the horrible slimy green blob just sitting there and croaking at her. That is, until I saw what you were doing.

I doubt if she would have paid any attention to you at all if you hadn't started doing those tricks with your tongue. Catching that fly inches from her nose, then unbuttoning her dress with just the curling tip of your tongue like that. I suppose it can be come a bit frustrating being a princess, shut up in the tower all day with just a spinning wheel and an old maid for company - dreaming about knights and their long lances and princes doing heroic deeds for half the kingdom and all that.

Anyway, after she'd recovered and got her dress back on, I remember, she asked if there was anything she could do for you.

"All I want is a kiss," you said.

Well, we all know what happens once a princess kisses one of us, don't we?

There was a flash of light, a small explosion and an embarrassing puff of purple smoke (I told you not to eat so many bluebottles).

"What is that sticking out in front of you?" She said, once she had got over the fact that what was once a scaly frog was now a (almost) handsome (in a poor light) prince. She pointed down to where your codpiece was resting like a saucepan lid on a broom handle.

"Ah, that is part of the curse put upon me by the evil witch," you said. "Unless I can get a princess to kiss me there, then - at midnight - I will turn back into a frog."

I fell off my lily pad when I heard that, the bloody bare-faced cheek of it. I must admit I didn't think the daft cow would fall for it, but that's princesses for you.

I must admit I haven't seen you smile like that since the time you swallowed that dragonfly - whole - but she did bring a certain amount of enthusiasm to the job. I always wondered why the guards up at the castle called her Princess Dyson.

Anyway, after I'd clambered back up on to my lily pad, and you had reassembled your codpiece, I sat up ready and waiting. I knew you would not forget me. Me, your oldest friend. Me, who had introduced you to that sexy little minx last spawning season. If it wasn't for me you wouldn't have been the proud father of 250 healthy, bouncing tadpoles.

I knew you wouldn't forget me. Just a quick whisper in her ear: "A kiss for my oldest, dearest friend. No - there is no need for the 'special' kiss. His was a different witch." A quick peck on the cheek would have done.

I closed my eyes and puckered up - waiting.

When I opened my eyes a few seconds later, you had gone.

If you had hung around for a while, I could have told you that it wouldn't last, that it would all end in tears. I could have warned you.

Going out in a magical coach so near to midnight is just asking for it. Those mice might be all right in a straight line, but curves and underpasses and going at such a speed when the coach is turning back into a pumpkin is an accident waiting to happen. If she hadn't been wearing the glass slipper, she may even have survived the crash.

Ah well.

On the whole, life isn't so bad here. It is a bit damp on this lily pad I suppose, but there are a lot of flies, and some of those tadpoles of yours have grown up into quite pretty females.

It will soon be spawning time again.

(Another one of my earliest – see here, and here for example)