“Um, like, Piggy, honey—you have a run in your stockings,” Janice said, half-apologetically. Piggy looked down in exasperation. “What—again?” she mumbled, cursing the pantyhose gods thoroughly. Too late to send an underling out for more, she thought despairingly, and Scooter never seemed to buy the right shade anyway. “I’ll stop off on my way home.” Filming had been going well. The new movie was weeks away from a wrap. Her costumes were inspired and her hair looked great. Even Kermit had been more attentive than usual, which Piggy had enjoyed, but somehow, this latest film had made her glum. It is not much fun to be playing a bride when no one wants to marry you. The thought made her feel so pathetic that she bristled immediately. Moi did not need to get married to some stupid frog. Moi was independent. Moi had a career, and an adoring fan base—not to mention a best-selling calendar that showed every sign of being a collector’s item. She lifted her head high, stuck out her chin (and other assets) and strode to her dressing room. Kermit had been closing in on her but something about her posture as she moved away warned him off. He watched her go, though, worried that all his plans were going awry. Once Piggy had gone, Janice snuck over to where Camilla was waiting off-stage. “Like, did you get it?” she asked. Camilla nodded after a careful look around, then proffered a bag to Janice, who took it eagerly. Reaching inside, Janice pulled out what appeared to be a small pile of silk and lace. She held it up carefully. “Like, wow,” Janice said. “This is so beautiful. What do you think?” Camilla clucked something and Janice just laughed. “Yes I know,” she said, “but Floyd isn’t going to see this.” The women looked at each other and sighed. “I hope this works.” “Guys, we’re running out of time. The movie wraps in a few weeks, and then I’m going to be tied up in post-production for forever. It has to be this week, or we’re going to have to postpone it.” Kermit didn't just sound nervous--he looked nervous as well. “Postpone it?” snapped Rizzo. “Don’t you mean start from scratch—again?” “Look—I’m working on it.” “Well work harder—I’m tired of walking around on eggshells.” “That sounds like fun,” Gonzo said, then glanced quickly around to be sure that Camilla hadn’t heard. Kermit sighed. “I’m trying, Rizzo. Gonzo—any luck?” “Not yet.” “Sheesh,” Kermit said irritably. “What's taking so long?” “I’m trying too, okay? I’m running every one I can find—there’s one coming tonight, but so far—“ “Should have known the Rabbi wouldn’t work,” Rizzo muttered. “Why not? He seemed nice.” Kermit and Rizzo exchanged exasperated glances. “Because he keeps kosher, Gonzo.” “I don’t care who he keeps, I don’t see why he couldn’t—“ “Shhhhh! She’s coming.” Kermit began to rifle through a stack of papers noisily. “Now—see here on page 36, where the frogs are supposed to come in and—“ Piggy rounded the corner on her way out of the studio and stopped abruptly, looking suspiciously at the three of them standing nonchalantly against the wall. They looked too nervous to be nonchalant, and too nonchalant to be convincing. “What?” she growled, lowering her sunglasses and tapping one high-heeled shoe impatiently. “Good job today,” Kermit said, stepping forward. As soon as Kermit moved, Gonzo and Rizzo scuttled away with alacrity. Kermit smiled what he hoped was a winning smile. You, um, look nice, Piggy,” Kermit began, but broke off immediately at the flash of danger in her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, frog. What do you want?” “Want?” Kermit repeated. “Um, nothing. I just wanted to tell you that you looked, um, you know, very nice today.” “As opposed to other days?” Piggy said archly. This trap was so obvious that Kermit knew she was more interested in warning him off than engaging in battle. “Of course not,” Kermit said hastily. “I just meant—oh, never mind.” “Speaking of never mind, I’m not buying this. What is it you want? Planning to have me sky-dive into a vat of pudding this time around?” A picture bloomed in Kermit’s mind’s eye and he was momentarily distracted. Piggy’s angry voice brought him sharply back to the moment at hand. “Well?” “What? Oh—oh, no. I was just, you know, going over some of the script things with, um, Gonzo and…. You really do look swell today.” He gave her his best puppyish look but it skittled off the starboard bow without leaving a mark. “Hmmpf,” Piggy said, marching around him. She was almost at the corner when she stopped and swung her head of glossy hair about to look at him. This time, she took the sunglasses off and pinned him with a look. “Kermit,” she said sweetly, but there were teeth in that sweet voice. “There are no frogs in the script on page 36.” “Oh—are you, are you sure?” Kermit stammered. “Positive,” Piggy said levelly. She looked at him for a long moment. She was in a mood, her eyes said plainly, and smart frogs wouldn’t mess with her. “Whatever torturous script idea you’ve got cooking just better not involve me—got it?” Kermit gulped, getting it. “Okay,” he said meekly, and Piggy’s heels click-clacked away from him. ‘Rats!” he thought furiously. “This may be harder than I thought.” “Here, driver,” Piggy said, tapping the glass that separated her from the limo driver. He touched his cap to her and pulled over neatly beside a corner drugstore. “I’ll just be a moment.” Piggy stepped daintily out of the big black limousine once the driver had opened the door and walked into the store briskly. It wasn’t a fashion boutique, but Piggy had discovered that they did sell high-end pantyhose and a local brand of enormous home-baked cookies, which made it a doubly useful place to stop on the way home. She carried five pairs of pantyhose up to the counter along with an oatmeal-raisin cookie and was debating whether or not to grab a couple more cookies to stash in her hotel suite when she happened to glance over in the next aisle. Despite herself, she smiled. “That’s so funny,” Piggy thought absently. “That’s the fourth minister I’ve seen in here this week. They must give some sort of ministerial discount, or something.” With her scarf and sunglasses, Piggy felt reasonably certain that she was anonymous, or gave enough of an impression of trying to be anonymous that the polite British citizens would let her shop in peace. She rounded the corner, looking for her brand of soda, and almost collided with the minister she had seen. A priest, she thought, looking at the collar, and probably Anglican. “Excuse me!” he said jovially. “I don’t usually run people down.” Piggy smiled. She opened her mouth to say something, but shut it again with effort. The priest looked at her questioningly and started to turn to his own shopping when nothing was forthcoming. Her mouth opened again, and this time she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Father, do you believe in marriage?” The priest turned around and looked at her in surprise. “Beg pardon?” “Not today,” Piggy murmured. “Um, I said, do you believe in marriage.” He smiled at her. “Could you be a little more specific?” he asked. “It does sortof depend, you know.” Piggy hesitated, looking like she might bolt, despite the kindly face and welcoming demeanor of the man with the collar. He reached out a hand in greeting. “Before we talk about marriage, maybe we should introduce ourselves,” he said, and his eyes were merry with mischief. “Hi—I’m Robert. My friends all call me Bob, or Father Bob. Why don’t you call me Bob.” Piggy blushed and smiled in spite of herself. “Hello, Bob,” she said, calling up her company manners without any hint of diva-ness. “I’m—“ “Miss Piggy. Yes—I sort of gathered that, despite your, um, disguise.” Piggy continued to stare at him in surprise and he smiled. “I’ve seen all your movies, and I was a big fan of the show when it was on. But please, I’m keeping you from asking your question. You wanted to know if I—“ “Believe in marriage,” they said together. Piggy blushed and looked down again, fiddling with the scarf and sunglasses. “Well, the short answer is yes—yes I do believe in marriage, if two people love each other and want to be committed to each other for a lifetime.” Still she hesitated, so he added gently. “Did that answer your question?” “Um, sortof,” Piggy muttered. “I guess I was wondering if you knew what to do if, um, if you could tell me how, um, hmmmm. What if one of the people loves the other one, but the one that she loves doesn’t know if he loves her back.” “Ahh,” Rev. Bob said solemnly. “I think I see the problem.” He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then looked around at the gathering dusk of the beautiful spring day. “I was going to call a cab,” he said, “but maybe we could just walk and talk a little about your question. My church is just a few blocks away from here and a brisk constitutional would do me good. What say, hm?” Piggy nodded, slowly smiling. “That would be nice.” Her voice became wistful. “I would like to talk to someone about it.” “I’m a very good listening. Occupational requirement.” He reached for her bag. “Please—allow me.” “Oh no,” Piggy said. “You don’t need to do that. I can carry it myself.” “Please let me,” Bob insisted. “Humor an old-fashioned fellow who’s mother would be shocked if he didn’t offer to carry a package for a pretty young lady.” Piggy smiled and deferred to him, handing over the package without further protest. “If you insist.” “I do.” The minister looked doubtfully at her four-inch heels. “Do you want to put on walking shoes?” Piggy looked down at her shoes in surprise. “These are walking shoes,” she said simply. Piggy took a moment to dismiss her driver, and off they went.