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Err A-Parent

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Ruahnna, Jul 3, 2011.

  1. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    Err A-Parent (Heir apparent)
    (for Matt and, of course, Jerry)

    Piggy stepped out of her tap shoes as soon as she got off stage, stretched her complaining toes out before her and let out a long sigh. Good to be done for the week, she thought. Even my pantyhose hurt. She bent down and picked up her shoes, careful of her aching pantyhose, and climbed the steps to her dressing room.
    Tomorrow, she thought, sighing with anticipation. I can’t wait for tomorrow. Kermit was leaving town tonight—within the hour actually—and she had the unheard of luxury of a whole weekend truly to herself. Tomorrow she would sleep in until it was time to dress for her salon appointment, then spend the rest of the day being pampered and pummeled, drowning her sorrows in a heated mud bath and an avocado-and-chocolate facial. She would have her ten little piggies pumiced and painted, and she would let them put a strength wrap on her hair to combat the hot stage lights. She might even let them lighten her honey-blonde hair just a smidge—it would offset her light tan. Next week was opening week for the new show, and she would need all of her energy and stamina fortified. Besides, a good rest and a little bit of help from the magicians at her favorite salon would ensure she looked her best. She had a good (trashy) romance to take with her, and a few scripts to look over. She had her ipod but doubted she’d use it in the mud bath. Nosiree, she did not plan to budge out of her comfort zone—not for anything.
    All of these thoughts whirled through her brain as she gathered her things and turned off the lights in her dressing room. Shutting the door firmly behind her, she stepped out onto the balcony—and absolute chaos.
    “But, but—“ Kermit was saying, looking thunderstruck. “I thought it was next week. I’m supposed to catch a plane in a couple of hours. Scooter, can’t you--”
    He was talking to someone she could not see from that angle, and she started down the stairs.
    “Sorry, Boss,” Scooter said hastily. “I’m scouting new filming locations tomorrow, remember?”
    “Oh, right, right….” Kermit said distractedly. He was flipping through his appointment book frantically. Got to get that man an iphone, Piggy thought resignedly. Scooter was great, but even he couldn’t clone Kermit, and Kermit had a terrible habit of overbooking, especially with the theatre running while they’d begun filming. It was insanity to try to do this many things at the same time, but that wasn’t her problem. Living with Kermit while he tried to do this many things at the same time was her particular cross to bear.
    She continued her descent while Kermit flipped open his phone and tried to call someone.
    “Hello, Emily,” he said into the phone. “Look—I was wondering if you were free this weekend to—oh. Wow. Wow, um, I mean, sounds like fun. Don’t forget your parachute, okay? What? Oh—right, wocka wocka to you too.”
    “Fozzie, do you think you could—“ Kermit trailed off at the panic in Fozzie’s eyes, and patted his arm. “Never mind.”
    “Hey,” Rizzo said, interrupting. “Kid can bunk with us, Kerm. We’ll hardly know he’s there.”
    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Kermit murmured, garnering an indignant look from the offended rat. “Um—I mean, thanks Rizzo, but I was looking for a more, um, parental environment.”
    Parental environment? Piggy thought. What on earth--?
    Rowlf came panting up to them. “Sorry, Kermit,” he said dejectedly. “I’ve got a house-watching job this weekend. I wouldn’t mind but I couldn’t do the driving. Maybe if we--”
    Piggy turned the final corner of the staircase, and her blue eyes opened wide with pleasure. Of all the nice surprises! One skinny green arm waved in greeting.
    “Hey, Aunt Piggy,” Robin chirped happily. “I’m here for spring break.”
    Piggy listened to the general mayhem for a good 30 seconds longer, then rolled her eyes heavenward and waded into the midst. She caught Kermit by the arm, took his phone away from him and looked into his eyes.
    “Is Moi correct in assuming you forgot Robin was coming this weekend?”
    Kermit gulped, unhappy about looking so silly, but nodded at last. “Moi is, um, correct,” he admitted.
    Piggy let out a long sigh, shook her head to indicate her exasperation, and leaned forward quickly to buss him on the cheek. “Have a good tour, Sweetie,” she said firmly, then to Robin, “C’mon, kid, you’re with me.”
    ‘But, but—“ Kermit stammered. He looked from Piggy to Robin, torn between gratefulness and worry.
    “Yes?” Piggy said.
    “It’s just that, um, your spa….” Kermit said softly. Piggy gave him a look, her hands on her hips, and Kermit gave it up, knowing he was fooling no one. “Have you—have you ever, um, you know, babysat anyone before, Piggy?”
    I look after you, Piggy thought heatedly, but managed not to say it out loud.
    “Uncle Kermit!” Robin protested, mortified at being characterized as a child.
    Piggy was equally indignant. “Robin has stayed with us many times before,” Piggy said, her eyes frosty. “I think I can keep him from starving or running out into the street.”
    “Well, I know, but…but, um, I’ve always been there, you know, before….” Kermit finished weakly, then turned to Robin.
    “Robin, will you be okay?”
    Piggy took a step toward him, and Kermit’s survival instincts kicked in.
    “Um, I mean, will you be good for your Aunt Piggy?”
    “Of course,” Robin said, still irked. Kermit looked at him and his expression softened. He reached out and put his hand on Robin’s shoulder, looked him in the eye.
    “Your uncle is a doofus,” he admitted. “I got my wires crossed about the dates. I’ll just be gone a couple of days. You take care of your Aunt Piggy until I get back, ‘kay?”
    Robin defrosted enough to nod, then Kermit pulled him in for a quick hug and a noogie over his laughing protests. Kermit let him go then, watching as his wife and his nephew walked out the door, and though he hoped they would, they did not look back.

    “Where’s Uncle Kermit going?” Robin asked, slinging his Sesame Street backpack over his shoulder.
    “Publicity tour,” Piggy said blithely. “Some state that starts with an M, I think.”
    “He didn’t really forget I was coming, did he?” Robin’s bright eyes looked worried.
    Piggy stopped walking and turned and looked at Robin fondly. “Of course not. He didn’t forget you—he’s been looking forward to you coming for a couple of months, now. He just got his dates mixed up.” She smiled to herself. “It’s been known to happen to the best of us,” she said dryly.
    “He’s pretty busy, huh?” Robin said thoughtfully.
    “Yes, but never too busy for you, dear,” Piggy said promptly. “He’s overbooked and too nice to say no to things that will benefit the theatre—even if he doesn’t really have time for them.
    “Uh huh,” said Robin. “So—what are we going to do now?” He looked up at Piggy, and for the first time, Piggy felt a little thrill of panic. Despite her ire at his observation, Kermit had been right. Piggy had not been responsible for anyone who was completely dependent on her other than herself. Robin’s wide-eyed look of trust made her take a slow, steadying breath and, just as she was about to speak, Robin’s small hand slipped into her satin-gloved hand. The touch of that small hand made any obstacle seem irrelevant, and Piggy squeezed back and smiled down at him. She was a professional, and she was adaptable. She could take care of one sweet, smart, charming little frog by herself—piece of cake. But she was glad it was only for the weekend.

    Several times that weekend, Piggy reminded herself firmly that several of Kermit’s brothers and sisters had dozens of children at the same time, raising large families without losing their minds. She comforted herself virtuously with the thought that Hilda was probably having a wonderful time at the spa, and felt self-righteous and smug about her selflessness. She had been unprepared for the amount of time one had to spend occupying the attention and energy of an active little frog, and she had entertained thoughts of locking herself in the closet if she had to read “The Monster at the End of This Book” one more time. But they had spent lots of time in the pool, and she had managed the food issue handily with the aid of carryout and drive-thru. Their one foray to eat out the first night had ended with Piggy sitting in a booth shaped like a giant clown shoe and surrounded by more noise than she had ever heard backstage. Robin had had a wonderful time romping through the play area while Piggy sat with every appearance of calm in her giant shoe as young mothers and astonished grandmothers snuck peeks at her famous profile and tried to keep themselves from opening staring. They had not attempted restaurant dining after that, and Piggy had counted herself lucky that the paparazzi had no spies at Clownburgers.
    Kermit had come home tired and anxious Monday night to find Piggy supervising bedtime and reading with aplomb through a well-worn book of Mother Goose’s rhymes, complete with funny accents and comments on the clothing faux pas of the characters depicted.
    “Do the Better Butter one, Aunt Piggy,” Robin had said sleepily, but they both looked up as the door swung open and Kermit’s figure was framed in the doorway. Robin bounded up out of bed and launched himself into his uncle’s arms. Kermit caught him easily and swung in a circle with Robin’s skinny arms and legs wrapped around him.
    “Hiya, Robin,” he said. “Your uncle Kermit has sure missed you.” His eyes met Piggy’s over the top of Robin’s head, grateful and satisfied.
    Piggy had stood up and started toward her husband, ready to welcome him home with an affectionate kiss, but she had stopped, startled, and waited until Robin had done the honors. At last, Robin was tucked back under the soft covers and kissed goodnight, and they were able to make their way out into the hall.
    Kermit drew her after him into the living room, then stopped and looked at Piggy expectantly.
    “Did everything, um, I mean….were you, er….did you even miss me?” he said at last, with a sheepish lop-sided smile that Piggy adored.
    “Yes,” she said firmly. “Very much. But he was a doll.” She reached out gently and cupped his face in one smooth hand. “You look tired though.”
    Kermit nodded. “Couldn’t sleep on the plane. Too much turbulence.”
    “Are you hungry?”
    At that precise moment, Kermit’s stomach rumbled audibly and they both laughed. “Yeah,” he said ruefully. “Airplane peanuts and a package of chocolate-covered—“
    “Don’t tell me,” Piggy teased, moving her hand to cover his mouth. Kermit just laughed and kissed that soft hand, following her into the kitchen. She made him a peanut-butter and gadfly sandwich and poured him a glass of orange juice. Even this degree of domesticity was a stretch for Piggy, and Kermit looked at the sandwich and back up at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
    “Wow,” he said admiringly. “You’ve really taken to this. Should I get you one of those frilly aprons?”
    Piggy turned and gave him a look before replacing the cap on the peanut-butter and snapping closed the tin of gadflies. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” she said dryly.
    But Kermit just smirked, enjoying the picture. “Maybe you could take over for Annette Funicello in those commercials where—“ Piggy let out a little huff of indignation, spun Kermit’s chair around and proceeded to demonstrate her superiority to the grown-up mouseketeer by plopping into his lap and giving him a kiss that made him forget all about airlines and hunger and everything else. Before he had quite recovered, Piggy had pulled away and stood up, leaving him just a little stunned.
    “I’m a pig of many talents,” she said airily. “And taking care of one little frog is nothing I can’t handle.”
    Kermit found his voice at last. “What about big frogs?” he asked hopefully.
    Piggy’s eyes blazed with challenge. “We’ll see,” she said, and started for the stairs.
    Alone in the kitchen, Kermit chuckled and finished his sandwich. All his worrying had been for nothing. Just when he thought Piggy could not surprise him, she managed to reveal some hitherto unknown facet of her personality that he had never even suspected. Once again, she had risen to the occasion on his behalf, and taken care of his nephew with every appearance of consummate skill. His sandwich gone, Kermit gulped the rest of his juice and set the glass carefully in the sink. Sheesh, he was tired. He thought of the way Piggy had looked at him just now, and some of that tiredness evaporated. Since he would be playing uncle and caregiver for another eight days, he thought he’d best get himself off to bed.
  2. Katzi428

    Katzi428 Well-Known Member

    Good. You didn't let Miss Piggy do anything bad to my little "froggie son" Robin.;)(In "Hensonville" I'm taking care of the young frog since the swamp doesn't have decent schooling) I know how the porcine princess can be. But then again if she did anything bad to Robin, she'd never hear the end of it from Kermit, right?
  3. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    This story makes me happy for various reasons. Bringing back memories of younger days and summers gone by... Thank you for posting it and have a vonderful holiday weekend.
  4. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    [Ooh! But I'm not DONE! (Insert maniacal laugh here)]
    Chapter 2

    So began a tradition that had not altered materially even unto today. Robin came and went according to the schedule that best suited all the family, settling into his own bedroom in the big house and spending long weeks with them at the drop of a hat. School was flexible, and Robin kept up with his studies as a condition of the Bohemian lifestyle he loved. From that point forward, Robin came and went regardless of the demands of Kermit’s schedule, and Piggy and Robin not only managed but flourished when left to their own devices.
    As Robin grew, however, things had changed. The Monster at the End of This Book had been replaced with discussions of books with more substance—if not more delight. Piggy and Robin found places that could cater to the tastes of a young frog with a seemingly hollow leg and a pig who took umbrage at certain items on the menu, and Piggy was never again forced to sit in over-sized footwear to enjoy a meal. When Robin was in school, things like ball practice and drama club were dealt with by whoever had the wherewithal to play taxicab and attend, and someone always seemed to make it to games and dress rehearsals despite the busy-ness of their lives.
    Robin had just come back from a month-long summer visit to his Grandparents in order to attend school soccer camp, and though Kermit had been deep in the throes of post-production, Piggy had found her post-wrap schedule delightfully flexible. She had spent several warm afternoons sitting in the bleachers and watching Robin and his team-mates run up and down the green field. A straw summer hat and sunglasses had kept Piggy from her usual degree of conspicuousness, and though the other parents and small children might cut her admiring looks, she was not bombarded by unwanted attention. Kermit had threatened to buy her a “Soccer Mom” T-shirt, and the suggestion had been received with the same interest as his earlier offer to buy her a frilly apron. The only frilly apron Piggy had ever owned had come from the maid’s costume she had worn in an old English murder mystery, and that little scrap of tulle would have provided exactly no coverage had anyone tried to use if for its purported objective. Piggy had professed to have the same need for a t-shirt, but the image had made her smile on and off all week.

    While she was watching Robin’s long, lanky form race up and down the field, she noticed the well-cut suit of an adult ram as he climbed easily into the bleachers, his eyes on the field. There were several youngsters of different denominations at Robin’s school, which was nice, since it made the young frog far less conspicuous that he might have been at a more traditional school, and Piggy wondered which of the young kids belonged to him. It occurred to her that that well-tailored back looked familiar, and she craned nonchalantly for a look at his face, but the big-horned ram was smoking a big cigar, his face politely averted. Piggy watched surreptitiously as he ground the cigar out carefully against one well-manicured hood, sniffed it experimentally, and then swallowed it with obvious relish. Suspicion was replaced by certainty.
    “Billy!” she cried. “Billy Kidd.”
    He looked around in surprise, but his face lit up at the sight of Piggy waving merrily from her seat in the bleachers. He clambered up with ease and settled next to her after adjusting his immaculate linen trousers. Piggy let him enfold her hand between his and raise it to his lips.
    “As I live and breathe,” he said with gusto. “Never thought I’d see you at a game like this!” His eyes scanned the field quickly, settling at once on Robin’s lanky figure. “Don’t you tell me that one’s yours…?”
    “Yes—and no,” Piggy said with a laugh. “Robin is Kermit’s nephew.”
    “Kid’s got some moves,” Billy said thoughtfully. “How old is he?”
    “Same age as your Nancy, I hear,” Piggy said. She gave him a look. “In fact, I’ve been hearing quite a lot about your daughter all week.”
    “Well, well,” Billy said, his eyebrows climbing. “That would explain the sudden mania for soccer.” He gave a parental sigh and smiled. “Seems like a nice kid.”
    “Very nice,” Piggy insisted. “Just like his uncle.”
    “Good to know.”
    “How’s Louise?” Piggy asked. Billy’s wife Louise was a team mascot.
    “Oh—traveling. This is their busiest time of year, you know. It’s a little tough on Nancy, but it’s a short season, and Louise loves it, so….” He shrugged eloquently.
    “And Norman?” There was a twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes.
    “Can’t do a darn thing with him,” Billy admitted ruefully. “I’ll tell him you asked about him.” He gave her a quick appraising look up and down—not disrespectful, but the thoughtful assessment of a man used to beautiful things. “You look terrific, Piggy. What are you up to these days? Kermit okay?”
    “Wonderful. Moi is filming for Mon Capitan now.”
    “Always good to hear. You do your best work for—“
    His phone buzzed. He pulled it off his belt clip, looked at the number, scowled, and put it back in his clip.
    “And vous? I believe I read some exciting news in the business section?” she prompted.
    He waved it off. “Business is good. People got to eat.”
    Practice was over, and the kids were moving toward them.
    Robin, Nancy and Keri were talking, heads bent together, then Keri saw her Mom, waved and ran to join her. Robin and Nancy continued on, talking earnestly and animatedly about the practice. Robin said something that made Nancy laugh, nudge him hard with her shoulder and run to her dad with an impish grin over her shoulder.
    “Hi, Daddy,” she cried, leaning her perspiring, grubby body against her father’s impeccable suit. He draped an arm around her, hugging her tight, and kissed the top of one gracefully curving horn fondly. “Hello Sweetheart—nice goal out there.”
    “Thanks!” She beamed at him, proud he had noticed.
    “Who’s your friend?”
    Nancy slipped easily into the role of budding debutant. “Daddy, this is Robin the Frog. Robin, this is my father, William Kidd.”
    Piggy stood back—not coaching—but swelled with pride at the way Robin squared his shoulders and put forth a firm hand. “Nice to meet you, Sir.”
    The older goat took his hand gravely, looked Robin in the eye. “Pleasure, son.”
    He did not, Piggy noted with satisfaction, mention Kermit, letting Robin stand on his own.
    “Nancy tells me you’re thinking about soccer camp.”
    “Oh!” Surprise lighted Robin’s face. He glanced at Nancy who smiled at him, making him blush and stammer, then plunged on. “Yes—that is, I’d like to, Sir.”
    “Hope to see you there.” He shot Piggy a quick look, got a slight nod, and continued. “Nancy’s Mom and I are driving Nancy up the weekend before—see a few sights. If your folks say it’s okay, we’d be happy to take you with us—save them a trip.”
    “Wow! I mean, wow—thanks! I mean—“ He turned to Piggy, hope and desperation on his face. “Can I Aunt Piggy? I mean, may I?”
    Piggy nodded and patted his shoulder. “We’ll ask your uncle, but I’m sure he’ll say yes.”
    “Oh—thanks, Aunt Piggy—thanks a bunch!”
    Nancy stretched up and kissed her dad’s grizzled cheek.
    “Thanks, Daddy,” she whispered.
    “Sure, Honey—run along. I’ll be right there.”
    The budding teenagers scrambled down, talking in hushed but excited tones.
    Billy assisted Piggy down from the bleachers, smiling at the number of teenage boys that stopped their warm-ups to gawk, open-mouthed, at Piggy’s beguiling ankles. She accepted the help as her just due, then smiled a worthy thanks to her friend.
    “Tell Louise to call me when she’s in town—we’d love to have you over for dinner.”
    “I’ll do it—she’d love to see you.” He kissed her chastely on her proffered cheek. “Tell the little green ball-and-chain I said to call me—I might have some backers for him.”
    “Billy!” she scolded, but her smile was warm.
    “Easy to bet on a sure thing, Piggy. Good to see you” He strolled to his car, and Piggy waited until Robin had joined her, bright-eyed and breathless.
    “Wow Aunt Piggy!” Robin said over and over. “Do you—do you think he’ll say yes?”
    Piggy reached up and put a fond hand on the back of Robin’s neck, steering him toward the parking lot. “I do,” she said firmly. “Now let’s get something to eat.”
    In the end, they compromised, going though two separate drive-thrus to accommodate Robin’s voracious appetite and Piggy’s more esoteric tastes. Almost as an afterthought, Piggy made a decidedly illegal u-turn and drove through a Starbucks, buying them both huge iced-coffee drinks. At home, they spread out their fare across the coffee table in the den and munched happily—Robin on a succession of fly-burger supremes, and Piggy on a generous bowl of antipasto. At last, all the paper wrappers had been collected and disposed of in the kitchen trash compactor, and they sat on opposite ends of the couch, feet tucked under them, sipping cold caffeine and occasionally licking the foam from their lips.
    “Uncle Kermit’s never let me have this much caffeine at once,” Robin admitted, taking a big gulp.
    “Good thing he won’t know about this,” Piggy said pointedly, and Robin laughed.
    “Ah—don’t make me laugh. I should have stopped at three.” He clutched his middle, groaning, but his self-satisfied smile belied his complaint.
    “You ordered ‘em,” Piggy said in a good imitation of a parental scold. “You need to take responsibility for your actions, young man.”
    It was such a dead-on imitation of Kermit that it was a wonder the Robin did not choke to death— or spray the room with iced coffee. Piggy pounded him on the back matter-of-factly until he could breathe again.
    “Aunt Piggy!” Robin was scandalized. “Has Kermit seen you do him? That was great! Have any of the guys seen it?”
    Piggy gave him a genuinely stern look. “No, no, and don’t even think about it.” She nodded her head toward Robin’s room. “Hit the shower, kid—you stink.”
    Robin grumbled but ambled into his room, and moments later Piggy heard the shower start. Robin re-emerged some 20 minutes later wearing jeans and a t-shirt and toweling his head. The jeans—which Piggy would have sworn were too long last week—were showing a little too much gangly ankle. The boy would need news ones—again. Robin flopped down next to her and reached for the remote.
    “Homework,” Piggy murmured, not looking up from her script. She had the original and the day’s changes side-by-side before her, studying intently.
    “Aww….” Robin whined, even as he slouched toward the backpack standing forlorn by the front door. Piggy had taken the precaution of looking through his backpack for any assignments that were supposed to be done over the spring break, not quite willing to take Robin’s word for it that he was entirely footloose and fancy free. David Copperfield was being dutifully plowed through on a nightly basis, and the other assignments were being obliterated one at a time. At this rate, Robin would have the entire second half of his spring break free of encumbrances. Within moments, he was scribbling his way through the math homework. Finishing with a flourish, he demanded Piggy call out his science vocabulary words, then let out a whoop worthy of Tarzan and turned on the TV.
    Piggy sighed, got up and gathered her papers. “I’m going to soak,” she said, planting a kiss on top of Robin’s head. She did not, she noticed, have to bend down very far. “Call me if the house is on fire.”

    (More to come)
  5. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    Aw... I'm glad this story is allowing you somewhat more freedoms than usual. It's coming across as a good read. My sibs and I used to do vacation weekends at our grandparents when we were younger, and those kinds of things along with others are what this story is bringing back for me.

    Nancy... Nancy the Nanny Goat from an animated insert?
    Why is it that I like your add-on characters?

    Additionally... This is making me think of that growin-up montage in that movie overlaid with the song Kodachrome by Paul Simon. Rully enjoying this, hope to read when you get the chance to post.
    :excited: :dreamy:
  6. Fersureitsjess

    Fersureitsjess Active Member

    I am really enjoying this!
  7. Aaron

    Aaron Active Member

    This wonderful i miss you Ru!
  8. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    (Aw-thanks, Sweetie--I miss you too! But I'm baaack now!)

    Chapter 3

    The house was not afire, but Robin was absolutely beside himself when she emerged about 90 minutes later in a hostess gown and scuffs. Piggy took one look at his anxious face and dragged him over to the couch.
    “What on earth?” she said, and Robin shook his head abruptly.
    “It’s nothing, I mean—it’s not nothing, it’s just that….we were gonna, you know, I—we were supposed to have a big post-camp party at the gym but they’ve got some sortof of science fair expo scheduled for the same day. They didn’t realize that they’d over-booked until today.”
    With some difficulty, Piggy followed this disjointed train of thought, trying to figure out the exact source of Robin’s obvious distress. “Sorry, Sweetie. I didn’t realize you were involved in the science expo.”
    “I’m not,” Robin mumbled. “I’m involved in the soccer camp.”
    “Yes, I know,” Piggy said, striving for patience. “I’ve been driving you every day.” Robin had appreciated the personal gesture very much—even more so because Piggy drove him in the sleek green sports car she had bought a mortified Kermit for his birthday.
    “And, um, the soccer camp was going to use the gym. For the, um, party.” He looked up hopefully and Piggy inhaled sharply. Oh my, did he have the same devastating pollywog eyes his uncle had! Momentarily distracted, it took her a minute to catch up, then her shockingly blue eyes flew wide. If she’d had eyebrows, they’d have climbed to her hairline.
    “Please!” Robin pleaded, desperate, but Piggy held a hand up for silence and Robin fell silent.
    Piggy took a deep breath and held it, thinking hard.
    “Robin the Frog,” she growled, “do I take it you are asking me if you can use your uncle’s house—my house—for some sort of adolescent sports bash?”
    “Oh, please, Aunt Piggy! Please—it would be so…everyone would think I was—that you were, I mean, that you and Kermit were sooo awesome.” The poor kid was literally wringing his hands.
    That Piggy could remain dispassionate in the face of this much adolescent angst was a pretty compelling testament to her qualifications for motherhood. She looked at Robin calmly.
    “I was not aware our awesomeness was ever in question,” she said dryly, and Robin shot her a look. Was she…teasing him? And did that mean she was actually considering his request!?
    Piggy closed her eyes for a moment to block out the sight of his abject groveling, then sighed and considered. On one hand, she knew what Kermit would say. Much as he loved Robin, the thought of hordes of young, um, persons running rampant (rampart? hee hee) through the house—their haven—was a definite no-go. On the other hand, Kermit was out of town until Sunday. The Party was Saturday, after camp was over. Theoretically, they could have the party and clean up before Kermit even arrived home. She thought about it, debating how bad it would be to have to tell him about it after the fact, and opened her eyes.
    “Yes,” she said, “but—“
    At “Yes,” however, Robin had fallen to his knees and thrown his arms around her waist. “You are the best, Aunt Piggy—the absolute best Aunt in the whole wide world! I love you! I—you are definitely the most awesome parental unit on the planet.”
    Piggy waited it out. Men throwing themselves at her feet was nothing new, but the younger ones tended to be more dramatic about it. When Robin had recovered, Piggy patted him fondly on the head.
    “Yes,” she repeated, “but.”
    “Whatever it is—“
    “Stop right there,” she insisted severely, and Robin clamped his lips shut. “No nephew of mine would ever give up all his bargaining rights at the beginning of a negotiation.”
    “Yes ma’am,” Robin mumbled, but he was smiling hugely. “Tell me what you’d like from me in return.”
    “For starters, please get up.”
    Robin clamored to his feet and grinned at her. Piggy found she had to look up just a touch to meet his eyes. She grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the couch.
    “Sit.” Robin sat.
    Piggy sat primly beside him, and picked up one of his school notebooks, flipping it open to a blank page.
    “Good parties don’t just happen,” she said. “Good parties are made. If we are going to have a successful party—whether we are entertaining dignitaries or…soccer players, we have to plan.”
    “Yes ma’am,” Robin said, his eyes alert and interested. “I’ll try to be a quick study.”
    They got down to work. Neither of them mentioned Kermit, who was—after all—away and who would not—after all—know or care about the party until after it was over. There was plenty of time to tell him, plenty of time after all the wheels were in motion.
    Theoretically, anyway.
  9. Katzi428

    Katzi428 Well-Known Member

    Ooooohhh!!!:excited: I like it!! I like it!!! (Kind of makes me feel guilty that several months ago that in HV I had had Robin call Kermit about something & Miss Piggy answered .She told him that Kermit had no interest in him & THAT'S why Robin was shipped to HV. I told Robin it was a lie & so did Kermit when he called back. I wound up telling the pork princess off.)
    LOL about Miss Piggy wearing a "Soccer Mom" shirt & Billy Kidd referring to Kermit as the "green ball & chain!"
  10. Muppetfan44

    Muppetfan44 Active Member

    Nice new story! Excited to read more!
  11. Java

    Java Active Member

    So, Miss Piggy has a domestic side to her. Very interesting and very much liked!
  12. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    Chapter 4

    “You don’t think he’ll change his mind, do you Aunt Piggy?” Robin asked for about the three-thousandth time. Piggy had a sudden image of Robin several years earlier, asking earnestly about the fate of one of his toys. The image made her face soften in response and kept her from swatting him.
    “Robin, Sweetie,” Piggy said firmly. “Once he decides on something, your uncle is pretty hard to dissuade. He said you can go and I said you can go and Nancy wants you to go….” That last said in a blatant attempt to distract him, and it worked wonderfully.
    “She does, doesn’t she?” asked Robin, equal parts dumbfounded and cocky. “She wants me to go on vacation with her family….” He got a hazy look in his eye and Piggy chose that exact moment to hop up and excuse herself. There was a lot to do.
    A day and two-thirds is not really enough time for the average hostess to organize a decent party (or an indecent party, for that matter. Those actually take longer to plan). But Piggy was not an average hostess. She had, after all, thrown soirees in rooms only slightly larger than a closet, and had once thrown a very intimate party for two in an actual closet—but that’s another story altogether. Here, at least, they had a larger palette (!) to work with, and Piggy was on her home turf.
    “Home team advantage is always good,” Robin agreed. He had agreed to do whatever was asked of him, and he had scrubbed more in the past 24 hours than he thought Piggy might have in the past two years, but he was smart enough not to say it out loud. She had, he was pleased to note, donned rubber clearning gloves instead of her usual satin and she had her hair tied up in a pink save-the-ta-tas bandana. Robin saw her wiping things down with her own two hands, and he smiled at her tenderly. She must really want this party to go well, too. When she sent him back to “make the bathroom smell fresh,” he had voiced his one complaint. “It’s a bathroom,” he had cried exasperated. “And two frogs live here—it’s supposed to smell swampy!” Piggy had merely pointed, imperious, and he had sighed and gone over everything again.
    Food was at once the easiest and most difficult to procure. Piggy’s kitchen skills had expanded beyond peanut-butter-and-gadfly sandwiches, but were still rather limited, so there was no question of cooking or catering. The difficulty was agreeing on what—exactly—was catered.
    Robin lobbied for greasy food from Flyburger and The Loving Kernel, with Piggy arguing for a more upscale spread.
    “And what does your little friend Nancy eat?” Piggy asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
    “Anything she wants,” Robin said dreamily, “and still looks…um…..” He was suddenly aware of who he was talking to, suddenly aware of his aunt’s wide blue eyes and carefully composed face. “Um, she likes whole grains,” he finished lamely. Piggy sighed. Men were all the same. She’d bet if she asked Nancy what Robin liked to eat that she’d get chapter and verse on all of his favorites.
    “So, we need some oat cakes and how about a nice prairie sampler from Herbevoires Are Us?”
    Robin smiled, relieved. “Better make it two,” he said. “She can really eat.”

    Kermit only wished he were on a purely promotional tour. Instead, he and Scooter were currently on the sixth stop on the Tour of Heck, as this trip had been dubbed by the travel-worn pair. The trip was a bad combination of location scouting and publicity. The scouting involved a lot of travel, which usually involved a lot of transferring from one type of transportation to another, and directions that ultimately petered down to “turn off the main road.” He had jolted along so many rutty roads in so many out-of-the-way places that his spine hurt. Add to that the aggravation of what they were calling “semi-publicity”—a series of short stops with meet-and-greets with fans in significantly named cities which offered PR possibilities—like Kermit, TX. The fan part he liked—nobody had better fans—but the travel and the lack of a genuinely coherent schedule were taking their toll on both of them.
    “Why are hotel rooms all depressingly the same?” Scooter said, as the door swung wide to reveal yet another neutral-toned room with inexplicable orange accents. He took the twin bed on the right without asking—Kermit always wanted the left one—and threw his luggage onto the bed.
    “They aren’t all the same,” Kermit said, more to be argumentative than from any real interest in the subject. Two married men on the road is not the same as two bachelors, and they were both a little crabby from living without the, er, comforts of home. “Piggy and I have stayed in some fun honeymoon suites.”
    Scooter turned and looked at his boss sourly. “I’ve stayed in one,” he griped. “Somehow, I don’t think it will be the same without Sara.”
    Kermit bit back a sharp retort. He knew he was irritable and tired and hungry and not fit company, but he was miserable and felt like sharing it with someone. The main thing that stayed his hands and silenced his lips was the certainty that Scooter was already miserable as it was. Like Kermit, he would rather be home than scouting locations and making PR stops, but he was here nonetheless and trying to be good-naturedly about it.
    Kermit felt a surge of compassion for the young man who had so faithfully attended him, organizing everything down to the last detail. It was not Scooter’s fault that almost everything had shifted right beneath their feet—travel plans, weather emergencies, appointments. It had not been much fun, except for the fan part. Kermit cleared his throat.
    “Sorry, Scooter,” he said quietly. “I appreciate you organizing everything and coming with me on the trip when I know you’ve got things you’d rather do.”
    Scooter let out a growl of frustration. “But that’s just it!” he snapped. “I did organize everything, and I wanted to come with you to scout locations, but I—nothing I did was—everything turned out…wrong.” He sat dejectedly on the end of the bed and would not look at Kermit. “I haven’t done anything right in over a week,” he said. “I’m useless.”
    “What the hey?” said Kermit, astounded. “Scooter, what’s wrong with you?”
    Scooter looked up miserably. “I—“ he began, but Kermit cut him off.
    “Please don’t tell me that you’re blaming yourself for this whole trip fiasco?”
    “Well….” Scooter began uncertainly.
    “For goodness sake, Scooter,” Kermit said, and then started to chuckle. “You’re the only good thing about this whole awful trip. The only thing that has gone right was having you there to pick me up and knock the dust off and point me onto the next thing on the list.”
    “Really?” Scooter’s voice was very small, and very hopeful, and Kermit went and flopped down on the edge of his own bed, staring across to where Scooter sat dejectedly on the edge of his bed.
    “Absolutely,” Kermit insisted. “Please don’t try to take responsibility for everything’s that’s gone wrong. I have known you over half your life, Scooter, and there is no way you could have gotten this many things wrong even if you were trying!”
    “But…but that’s my job—making things run smooth.”
    “Look, sometimes—no matter what you do—things are not going to turned out the way you planned.”
    Scooter flopped back onto the ugly bedspread. “You can say that again.” After a minute he grinned. “So…you’re not going to fire me,”
    Kermit snorted. “You wish. Then you’d get to go home and I’d be stuck here by myself.”
    A phone began ringing. It took a minute to find Kermit’s phone since he hadn’t had any pockets, but Kermit finally found it, unlocked it and answer it.
    “Kermit the Frog,” he said, and listened. “Okay. Right—no, I understand. Not a problem. No. No—really. Really. It’s fine. Thank you. No—thank you. What? Oh—ha ha. Right. No—really, thank you. G’bye.” He hung up and turned to Scooter.
    Scooter put both hands over his face. “Go ahead and tell me,” he moaned. “What’s happening now?”
    He heard Kermit smile before he opened his eyes, but he opened his eyes to find his boss grinning at him.
    “What?” Scooter asked suspiciously “What now?”
    “We’re going home. The last location is canceled.”
    “Wh—what? We’re…we’re done? We’re going home?”
    Kermit grinned. He like the way Scooter said home because it was how he thought of home, too. “Yep,” he said. “And you only have one more thing to do before you go.”
    Scooter looked nervously at his boss, but he squared his shoulders and raised his chin. “Tell me,” he said, trying to sound confident.
    “Find us a flight home!”
    Scooter’s grin was huge. “On it, Boss!” he almost shouted, and started to dial.

    Scooter wasn’t able to find them a flight—he found two. One left in less than two hours, and the other was a red-eye that left at 5:30 in the morning.
    “You should go tonight,” Scooter said gallantly. “You don’t have any luggage but a briefcase.”
    “Nothing doing,” said Kermit. “And you just have a carryon, anyway. Get packed and go home to your wife.”
    “But…you should go. You’re the boss,” Scooter muttered, but without much conviction. It didn’t matter—Kermit had enough conviction for both of them.
    “That’s right,” he said, grinning. “I am the boss. So get yourself on the plane, pronto. That’s, um, an order,” he said, trying to sound authoritative.
    “Yes sire, Boss,” Scooter murmured. “I—thanks.”
    “No problem,” said Kermit. I’m just going to catch a few zzzzs and then climb on a plane myself. Write down my confirmation number.”
    “I already fed it into your phone,” Scooter admitted.
    “Of course you did,” Kermit murmured, and pushed him gently toward the open door.
    After Scooter had gone, Kermit flopped back down on the hard and miserable bed and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, but it seemed very unlikely that he was going to get any sleep on this monstrosity. He thought about calling home, but was too tired to look for his phone again. I would be better just to surprise them. He thought about the way Scooter had said “home.” He said it out loud, “Home.” It tasted wonderful on his tongue.
    Home was Piggy and their big, soft bed and Olympic-sized pool and neat kitchen stocked with things he liked to eat. You never did find candied knats in the vending machines anymore. Home was quiet and peace, from skylight illuminated lobby to the staircase that Piggy had swept down so many times to kiss him and welcome him home. Kermit smiled and put his hand on his lips.
    And Robin would be there, too, this time, Kermit thought, and when he got home tomorrow they would have a nice, quiet dinner and maybe go for a dip in the pool. Just the three of them.
    He couldn’t wait.
  13. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    *Explodes. Thank you, this story reafirms the funness of reading your fics.

    Is that bandana she's wearing wsay what I think—yep, it's what I thought it was.
    The Loving Colonel, points for remembering that one. They've got great nuggets.
    Oh, so this story's after Scooter and Sara got married.
    Kermit's going to have a rude awakening, both from the hotel bed to chase down his plane and once he gets back home.

    But the best thing I have to say is how you write Kermit. I'm seeing him in at least shirt and tie and jeans/pants which helps sell the fact that his fatherly or parental persona shone through when talking to Scooter at the hotel room.
    Please, keep writing and posting. :jim:
  14. Fersureitsjess

    Fersureitsjess Active Member

    Ruahnna! I love all of your stories! Keep posting!
  15. Katzi428

    Katzi428 Well-Known Member

    Oooohhh...I love it!!!
  16. newsmanfan

    newsmanfan Well-Known Member

    ------------------------------------------------------
    Do you have ANY idea how frickin' hard it is to NOT LAUGH in the library when I read this stuff? Wha ha ha ha!

    Hoo boy. Now I have Jimmy Buffett's "Gypsies in the Palace" playing in my head: "Hi there boss, what's going on? You say you're coming WHEN? I'll send Snake out to pick you up tomorrow night at ten...Okay, everybody outta here, this joint is closin' down! We gotta find someone to clean this up -- he's comin' back to town!"

    Sorry I didn't get to this one earlier. A few comments:

    LOVE the image of Piggy in rubber gloves and a cancer-fighting bandana CLEANING things! ...Hard to plan an indecent party...can I hire you next time I throw one, then? ..."The Monster at the End of This Book" was one of my all-time faves as a small child! Great reference! ...Love the budding teen romance thing with Robin. Love Piggy discovering her parental skills.

    More!

    -----------------------------------------------
  17. Ruahnna

    Ruahnna Well-Known Member


    Chapter 5

    “But—but Aunt Piggy,” Robin whined. “I thought we’d just hire a deejay or something.”

    Piggy put her hands on her hips. “A deejay? Really? When we know tons of musicians?”
    “Yeah, but….” Robin trailed off. As her beloved nephew, he had never been on the receiving end of one of her legendary hi-yas, but—oh!—he had heard stories, and he was a believer. “They won’t play, you know, old…um, I mean…will they play things we want to dance to?” He was as tall as she was but nevertheless giving a great impression of looking up at her with pollywog eyes.
    “Sweetie,” Piggy growled, almost out of patience, but not unmoved by those eyes. “They will play whatever I tell, um, whatever I ask them to play,” she insisted. “Besides, I assumed you’d be using the pool, so I don’t think there’s much point in trying to set up a full-scale disco in our dining room.”
    “What’s a disco?” Robin asked, eyes wide and guileless, but Piggy knew when she was being tweaked.
    “If you don’t stop whining at Moi or trying to make me feel old I’m going to swat you.”
    “Speaking of old…” Robin began.
    Piggy whirled on him, but at the sight of him looking suddenly so uncomfortable, she sucked in her temper and peered at him.
    “What, Sweetie?”
    Robin looked miserable but determined. “Aunt Piggy, could you…I mean, do you think you…have…um, any regular clothes? For tonight, I mean?”
    Few people, frogs, bears or whatevers can say that have made Miss Piggy positively speechless, but Robin had now joined their ranks.
    “Regular clothes?” Piggy asked. She looked down at her pink faille above-the-knee skirt and silk chemise and one hand rose reflexively to her pearls. She bit her lip hard to keep from smiling. “Are you asking if I can dress more like…a parent?” she asked.
    “Yes,” Robin said, letting out the breath he’d obviously been holding. “Could you, Aunt Piggy? Please? Just for tonight? Please don’t be offended.”
    Piggy wasn’t offended. She was amused. “I thought I was the most awesome parental unit on the planet?” Piggy teased, and Robin looked up hopefully. She was smiling. She wasn’t mad.
    He reached out and squeezed her hand. “You are. I mean, you and Kermit are the best, but you’re so…so….”
    “Awesome?”
    Robin laughed, blushing to beat the band. “Absolutely,” he said. “But just for tonight, could you try to be a little less amazing?”
    Piggy’s voice was dry. “I’ll see if it’s possible,” she said.
    The doorbell rang, saving them, and Piggy grabbed his sleeve and pulled him after her toward the door. It opened to reveal about a dozen muppet rats standing on the stoop.
    Say Cheese Party Decorations and Favors,” said the one in front, whose eyes were glued to his electronic tablet. “We’re here to set up some decorations for a Miss The Frog?” He looked up. If he was surprised by the sight of a frog and a pig he did not show it, but several of the rats were nudging each other and murmuring. “It’s her,” one of them muttered to a burley rat next to him. “Told you they lived in this neighborhood.”
    “It’s Mrs. The Frog,” said Piggy, taking the tablet and signing. “Come right this way.” She let them through the lobby, the dining room, the kitchen and finally out one of the back doors onto the patio where the tiled pool glimmered in the sun. Robin trailed in their wake. “This is the main set-up area,” she said, waving a gloved hand. “And I want the kitchen and the dining room and the living room done, too.” She placed her hands on Robin’s budding biceps and pulled him front and center. “This is my nephew, Robin,” she said, “and he would be delighted to reach anything that is too tall.”
    “Can the ladder, Zooey,” one of the rats called. There was a metallic clatter from the driveway.
    Piggy smiled sweetly at Robin. “Have fun,” she called, and disappeared upstairs.

    Kermit did not like to drive, but he was not enjoying being driven very much right now, either. The cabbie was a rather disreputable-looking orange-striped tabby who whipped the little taxi in and out of traffic with a speed and fury that was making Kermit glad he’d had no breakfast and sorry he’d bought coffee.
    “So, the airport,” said the tabby. “You heading back east or back west?”
    Kermit smiled, glad to be distracted. “West,” he said. “Back to the west coast.”
    “Huh,” said the cat. “I sortof figured you for an East Coast sort of guy. New York, you know?”
    “Um, well, New York’s great too,” Kermit said. “But I didn’t grow up on either coast.”
    The tabby turned around and looked at Kermit long enough to make Kermit gulp, grip the seat on either side anxiously and try to step on the phantom brake in the back of the taxi.
    “I know you,” said the tabby.
    “Oh, er, how nice,” said Kermit.
    “Yeah—I see you all the time on television. I like your stuff.”
    Kermit smiled in what he hoped was a friendly manner and tried not to scream like a girl as the cab darted incautiously in and out of traffic.
    “Yeah—when I see you on tv, I run in to see what you do next.”
    “Well, um, thanks, um….” Kermit leaned forward, trying to read the cat’s license swaying crazily from a breakaway cord around the rearview mirror. “Burley. It’s always nice to meet a fan.”
    Without warning, the cab shot across two lanes of traffic, barreled down the off ramp and hurled itself toward the airport’s glass door. Kermit put his foot on the back of the driver’s seat, bracing himself for impact, but Burley had one paw on the emergency brake. He pulled it, bringing the car to a bone-jarring whump against the curb.
    Burley got out, lumbered around an opened the door for Kermit, who practically fell onto the sidewalk. He resisted the urge to kiss the ground. Home, he thought, trying to still his frantic heartbeat. He pulled a bill out of his wallet and handed it to Burley, who smiled and grinned toothily.
    “Thanks—thanks! I appreciate it!”
    Kermit was appreciating not having his insides spilled across the highway. He had a sudden, shudder-inducing memory of the first time he’d ever seen someone play this awful video game called—here, he grimaced—Frogger.
    “No problemo,” said Burley. “And I really, really love your insurance.”
    Wearily, Kermit trudged through the airport door.

    Piggy was halfway down the stairs when the doorbell rang, so she was unquestionably closer, but she heard Robin bolt through the house and he beat her to the door by at least five feet. She looked a question at him, managing to convey her surprise without the use of eyebrows.
    Robin gulped. “It’s, um, it’s Nancy and, um, Keri—I asked them to come help with the party. He looked at her miserably, expecting censure “I should have asked. I meant to ask—I just—the rats came, and then I was….”
    Piggy watched him in bemusement. She had never seen him so thoroughly rattled. She put a hand on his arm to calm.
    “How nice of them to come help,” she said gently. “Your friends are always welcome here, Robin.”
    Robin gulped again and nodded. “Thank you, Aunt Piggy. I—gosh, I—“
    “Sweetie,” said Piggy firmly. “Moi is going to open the door. Get a grip, okay?”
    Robin nodded again, and smiled. Piggy opened the door just as the doorbell rang again, so the two girls stepped back in surprise, and then—thankfully—everybody laughed.
    “Why, hello girls,” said Piggy. Nancy and her friend Keri looked so young and fresh-scrubbed that Piggy was glad she’d was no longer running around with her golden locks tied up in a bandana. Both of the girls smiled at her shyly, then their eyes slid over to Robin hovering behind her.
    “Hello, Mrs. The Frog,” said Nancy.
    “Hello,” Keri echoed faintly, her eyes wide.
    “Hi,” said Robin, and was mortified when his voice squeaked a little.
    “Won’t you ladies come in?”
    “Um, Aunt Piggy—you know Nancy Kidd. This is Kerimia Hamm. Keri—this is my Aunt, Mrs. The Frog.”
    “Oh, Mrs. The Frog,” Keri gushed, finding her voice at last. “It is soooo nice of you to let Robin have the party here. We were going to be soooo disappointed about the party.” Keri was a petite little sow, very athletic and compact, with a mop of silky brunette curls. Her eyes were big and brown.
    “Yes, it was very nice of you to offer,” said Nancy to Piggy, although her eyes were focused on Robin. “Thank you so much.”
    Robin seemed to come back to life under her gaze. “I was—that is, we were—the rats and I were decorating out back.” He grimaced, making an oh-so-familiar scrunchy face. “I’m the ladder, apparently.”
    Both girls giggled. “Do you need any help?” Keri asked. “I’m good with streamers.”
    “Sure,” said Robin. “We’re hanging Japanese lanterns.”
    “Unless you need us somewhere else, Mrs. The Frog,” said Nancy. Piggy was impressed by the young goat’s manners and social poise, but had expected no less. Louis was a real stickler for appropriateness.
    “Decorating will be fine,” she said. “There’s lemonade in the fridge.” She turned and—to Robin’s horror—bussed him on the cheek. Her blue eyes flashed with mischief. “Moi is so glad Robin invited you to come help.”

    “The Frog, Kermit,” Kermit said for at least the twelfth time. “Capital T, haitch, Eee space Eff Arr Oh—“
    “I don’t seem to have it,” said the lady behind the counter, now rather flustered. “I can’t—it just isn’t in there.”
    “But it has to be in there,” Kermit repeated patiently. “My assistant, Scooter Grosse, made the arrangement yesterday afternoon, well, evening. I have a confirmation number.”
    “Yes, I know, Mr. The Frog. I already tried looking it up by the confirmation number and last name.”
    Kermit’s head hurt. The rest of him didn’t feel so great, either. He was having to make the trip home with two plane changes. His first flight had been crowded, and he’d sat between a lady wearing too much Eau du Something Floral and a businessman who hogged the arm rest and jiggled his foot the whole time. The dry air was uncomfortable on his amphibian skin, and they’d run out of root beer before they’d taken his drink order. There was plenty of alcohol available—just not any root beer. Kermit had been seriously considering it by the time the plane landed, even though it was hardly breakfast time at home.
    There had been an interminable lay-over, and Kermit had had an extremely lackluster smoothie that had not sat extremely well during the second plane trip, which had been full of turbulence. They had eventually landed, and with time to spare to catch the next flight.
    But what should have been a routine plane change had now morphed into something more complicated. The plane he should have switched to had been diverted, so the passengers had been routed to two different planes. Two airline employees with rosters divvyed up the passengers, checking names off a list until everyone was called—everyone except Kermit.
    Apologetic but not really very helpful, another airline employee walked him over to the ticket counter and fled. That had been 40 minutes ago.
    “Miss—“
    “Mrs., actually,” she said, flashing him a bright smile.
    “Mrs., uh,” he read her name tag. “Stake. I appreciate that you’re trying to help me but all the other passengers on my flight have already been routed onto other planes. I don’t know when those planes are planning to take off, but I want to be on one of them.”
    “I’m so sorry,” she said, now nearly tearful. “I—let me get a supervisor.” She, too, fled the scene and Kermit considered putting his head down on the cool counter and just going to sleep. Maybe he could stick a label on his back and just ride in the cargo hold like they had in their movie—even that would be preferable to spending another night on the road. He so wanted to get home….
    Home to Piggy’s warm kisses and soft hands. Home to the quiet of the skylit foyer. Home where Robin would bound up and tell him about soccer camp and about his planned trip with the Kidds. Kermit was homesick with a palpable ache, liked he’d gone to summer camp and couldn’t find his way back home. He was hungry and tired and—
    “Okey-dokey,” said a cheery voice. Kermit snapped to attention and realized that he had, in fact, been resting his head on the cool countertop.
    “Give me that confirmation number one more time, please,” said the brisk male voice. Kermit thumbed through the phone, found Scooter’s note, and read the number off to him.
    “And his last name is The Frog,” said the lady who had tried to assist him. “Type it right there—“
    “Actually, the computer is more likely to find it by the confirmation number if you just type in the number.”
    “Anything?” Kermit asked, beyond hope and well into resignation.
    “Um, did you say you were Mr. Grosse?”
    “No. Mr. Grosse is my personal assistance. He made the reservations.”
    “That’s the problem, then,” said the man behind the counter. “The second half of the flight was input with Mr. Grosse’s name since he made the reservation.”
    Hope flooded through Kermit’s veins. “Great,” he said. “Now that we know what the problem is, you can fix the ticket.”
    “Oh—I can’t fix the ticket,” said the man hastily.
    Hope leaked back out again.
    “You can’t ?” asked Kermit, knowing he was whining like an eight-year-old but unable to help himself. “Why can’t you?”
    “Because only a supervisor can correct this sort of thing.”
    Cruelly, hope surged once again. “Well, that’s a relief,” said Kermit. “Find a supervisor.”
    The man and the woman exchanged a look. Kermit did not know what it meant, but he knew it was not good news. “What? Don’t tell me you’re all out of supervisors, too?”
    “Um, no,” the man stalled. “In fact, they’re all here. There’s a meeting—“
    “Good. Interrupt it.”
    “Well, Mr. the Frog,” the woman began. “We can’t really just interrupt—”
    “In. Ter. Rupt. It.” Kermit said, enunciating slowly. What he wouldn’t have given for Piggy right here to champion his cause.
    “Well….”
    “I don’t….”
    Kermit the Frog had been a family entertainer for many, many years. He had worked with children, animals and monsters, all without turning a hair. (He had none—problem solved.) He had worked under conditions that would stifle most performers and for pay that some would not have crossed the street to receive. He had been stood up by guest stars, stomped on by irate cast-mates and evicted from his own theater on more than one occasion. All this, he had managed with an affability and charm that had captivated most people. But those that had worked with him for many years knew that Kermit’s fuse, while exceptionally long, was connected not to a firecracker but to dynamite. It took a long time for a problem to work him up to a frenzy, but once it did….
    “Now look here!” Kermit shouted, waving his arms over his head. “I have been trying since five-thirty this morning to get by home to LA. I could have driven home by now, and I do not care what is going on in that meeting but I want you to interrupt it! Interrupt it now! Now, do you hear me? Now! Get a supervisor, get my ticket fixed and PUT ME ON A PLANE so I can GO HOME. I want to GO HOME NOW!”
    The airline employees fled again, this time terror.
    But they got him on the next flight out.
    Hmpff, Kermit thought. Even Miss Piggy knew better than to mess with a tired, grumpy frog.

    Piggy came out onto the landing for Robin’s approval. Her hair was upswept, and she had on a white blouse and a navy blue dirndl skirt with low pumps. She had her pearls at neck and ears and an almost translucent lipstick that did nothing but enhance her own lips.
    “All right,” said Piggy. “Do I look parental enough to suit you?”
    “Yeah,” said Robin. “That’s perfect.”
    “No way,” said Nancy. The frog and the kid stared at each other in surprise.
    “She looks great,” said Robin.
    “She looks like Donna Reed,” objected Nancy. “Or June Cleaver.”
    “She looks like somebody’s aunt!” he insisted. “This is how parents are supposed to dress.”
    Nancy put her hand on her hips. “Have you seen my Mom?” she asked. Louise spent most of her workdays in shorts and a tank top.
    “Er,” said Robin, blushing. The blush probably saved him from certain doom.
    Nancy looked appealingly at Piggy. “Isn’t he just adorable?” she asked.
    If Robin had been embarrassed before, he was mortified now.
    “What?” he said. “Sheesh!” Keri had emerged from the kitchen and watched the little drama unfolding with frank interest.
    Nancy turned to Robin and put her hands on her hips. “How can you have been raised by show people your whole life and still be such a prude?”
    “I—I’m not a prude,” he mumbled. “I’m…discreet.”
    Keri snorted and Nancy laughed.
    “You are adorable,” Nancy said firmly, then ignored him to turn back to Piggy. “Mrs. the Frog, you cannot wear that to the party tonight.”
    Piggy was thoroughly enjoying herself. “And why not?” she asked. “Robin likes it. Moi was going for a more subdued--okay, boring look,” she admitted. “Did I overshoot?”
    Oh yeah,” said Nancy. “Um, ma’am.” She looked at Piggy timidly. “You were wearing a really cute pair of capris and wedgie little heels one day when you came to pick Robin up. Maybe something like that…?”
    Piggy turned to Robin, who seemed to have processed past prude and made it to adorable. He stood there with a goofy grin on his face. “How about it, kiddo? Your friends have—apparently—already seen me in my regular clothes.”
    “Okay,” Robin mumbled. “Just…just tone it down, okay Aunt Piggy? We won’t get any of the guys to come out of the kitchen if you don’t.”
    Piggy preened just a little. “And who,” she said archly, “says I’m staying in the kitchen all night?”
    MuppetLuver2000 and Katzi428 like this.
  18. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    Another winner... Things I liked include, but are in no way limited to just the following...
    1 Louise? *Reads to the end, oh right, that's Nancy's mom.
    2 Burly the Tabby Cabby. And I thought it would turn out to be Toonces. But clever how you tied in to another loop of mistaken identity with the cat quoting he loves Kermit's insurance company.
    3 The whole thing reminds me of a pool party held once at my godfather's home for some of my high school classmates, the ones who attended at least. And here, you've got be extra lucky to pull that off because it's possible the afternoon gets rained out.
    4 Kermit demanding a supervisor... Er, isn't that the person Mrs. Stake went to get who revealed the problem with Kermit's ticket? Cute reference to TGMC.
    5 Really good interplay between Robin and Nancy and Piggy. Thanks for this, more please!
  19. newsmanfan

    newsmanfan Well-Known Member

    ------------------------------------------
    Ah, I can always count on Lady Ru to make me grin! Wonderful update! I agree with Ed: the running joke about Kermit being confused with the Gecko (not Micahel Douglas' one, though that might be even funnier...) is better with each retelling. Loved Kermit's wonderfully gut-felt reactions to the plane troubles and the cab. And seeing him work into a good, honest explosion is always satisfying! (But where was Bobo? Surely he could've sorted the whole thing out. Or at least stood there helpfully repeating everything, all sympathetically...) Your knowledge of fashion is definitely an advantage to portraying Piggy; I have NO idea what half the stuff you wrote for her clothing IS, but enjoyed being shown around by an expert all the same!
    And, as usual, some killer one-liners: the "phantom brake" in the rear of the taxi..."I really love your insurance" doubly funny due to the cat's driving skills...Donna Reed! LOVE it. Keep going!
    -----------------------------------------
  20. Muppetfan44

    Muppetfan44 Active Member

    High quality hilarity as always! Glad to see Kermit blowing a gasket or two so he can get home, we've all been there.

    Love the way Robin is trying to get Piggy to "dress down". Adorable! Can't wait to see what happens next, and how Kermit reacts once he reaches party central at his own house, lol!


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