Err A-Parent

[Java]

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

 

[Ruahnna]

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.

 

[The Count]

*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.

 

[Scooterfan5]

Ruahnna! I love all of your stories! Keep posting!

 

[Katzi428]

Oooohhh...I love it!!!

 

[newsmanfan]

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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!

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[Ruahnna]

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?”

 

[The Count]

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!

 

[newsmanfan]

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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!
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[Muppetfan44]

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!