Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)


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Oct 24, 2003
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It was dark and quite late when Kermit inserted his key into the lock of the sprawling Spanish-style home he and Piggy had bought shortly after
the studio had offered him a corner office. “At least,” he though dismally, “she hasn’t changed the locks.” Piggy’s meteoric rise to super-stardom had furnished any luxuries not already existing in the property. It was an inviting, comfortable, stylish and altogether homey place. Kermit thought—not for the first time—that he saw the inside of it far too little and far too infrequently to suit him. These thoughts were not far from his mind, but they weren’t foremost.
Foremost, of course, was the shameful way he had treated Piggy that afternoon. When take after take had failed to produce the film they’d needed, he’d degenerated into the sort of autocratic, grouchy, dictatorial perfectionist he’d always despised. With far more dignity than he’d expected—or shown himself—Piggy had simply excused herself and gone to her trailer. When she’d finally left for home, Kermit couldn’t say, but he remembered with chagrin the way she had nailed her performance every single take. Regardless of technical difficulties, the flubbed lines of others, her own fatigue and in spite of—rather than because of his guidance—she’d turned in a stellar performance every time the film had rolled. Piggy could take her place among the notable divas of any generation—grandstanding with the best of them--but when the situation called for it, she could act. And, he admitted, she had been professional, unlike a certain frog he could mention. The memory made his cheeks burn with shame.
The house was dimly lit. Kermit had almost concluded that Piggy had gone upstairs to bed when he saw the ambient light from the den. A small table had been pulled up cozily next to the plushy recliner, and on it sat an untouched mug of hot chocolate. The light of the lamp revealed Piggy nestled into the curve of the chair. Her eyes were closed, her honeyed locks were pulled up on top of her head with a clip and she was swathed in some sort of caftan-like garment that covered her from chin to toes. In sleep, her profile was soft, unguarded. Overwhelmed with tenderness, Kermit knelt in front of her. Some ingrained awareness of his proximity made her stir, her eyelids flutter open.
“Kermie?” Her voice was muffled, clouded with sleep.
“Yes, Piggy,” he answered softly. “It’s me.”
She seemed to rouse herself, looking down at her husband cautiously. Her mouth opened, but she closed it without comment, her eyes searching his face. Kermit saw the uncertainty, acknowledging it with pain.
“Honey—“ Kermit began, but something she had read there on his face—contrition, apology, need--had moved her. Piggy leaned forward and kissed him without preamble, her lips velvety-soft over his. Kermit stood suddenly, lips still locked with hers and swept Piggy up in his arms.
“Kermie—you shouldn’t,” she began automatically. “You’ll hurt yourself.” Men are, from time to time, permitted small, complimentary lies in the pursuit of l’amour--thank goodness.
“Nonsense, Darling,” Kermit murmured, smiling at her. “You’re light as a feather.” With the weight of guilt off his shoulders, he could have lifted a Buick (which was, perhaps, just as well) and carried it across the country. Or, at the very least, to the couch.
At the edge of the overstuffed divan, Kermit lowered her to her feet, but did not loosen his hold on her. He pressed a kiss into her hair and felt her hands tighten on his shirtfront, leaning into his embrace. He pulled back ever-so-slightly and Piggy looked at him, her eyes dark with wonder and longing. It was all the encouragement Kermit needed and he tightened his arms around her. Her arms had crept to his shoulders, and now one soft hand was caressing the nape of his neck. Somehow, his shirt had escaped from his trousers, and her other satiny hand was slipping up his back. Kermit shifted his hold on her, and the silk robe she wore made a papery sigh, molding to him like a second skin with static electricity. He tried to pull it free and received a fat sparky zap, making him yelp and Piggy giggle.
“What is this thing you’re wearing,” he demanded grumpily. “This isn’t like you at all.”
Piggy laughed softly, her voice low and teasing.
“It’s a muumuu, Kermie.”
“Well it certainly doesn’t look like….” He trailed off as Piggy slipped the robe from her shoulders, revealing a sweet but rather skimpy negligee. “There’s my girl,” he said with satisfaction. “I can always count on you Piggy.”
Piggy grew still in his arms and her gaze on him was intent. Kermit could feel the muffled beating of her heart against his ribcage, liked the warm solid feel of her in his arms.
“You can, you know,” Piggy said at last. “You always can.”
There was a moment then, when something timeless and important hung between them—all the things said and unsaid, felt, sensed, known—then Piggy nestled up against him and pressed her face into his neck.
“I do know,” Kermit said fervently. “I promise—I do.”
For the last time, Kermit pulled away, but just enough to see her face.
“I haven’t been taking good care of you, Piggy,” he said softly. “That’s going to change.”
Her face softened and she looked at him solemnly. The trust in her eyes made him want to be a better frog. Starting now.


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Oct 24, 2003
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Chapter 1: A Lucky Frog

Kermit adjusted his tie before the dresser mirror, straightening his collar a little in the process. Although clothes are always optional for frogs, Kermit enjoyed dressing up once in a while, and he wanted to look his professional best today. With a final twist of his conservative tie, Kermit turned. The little blue light on the nightstand clock-radio told Kermit that it was four-thirty in the morning. He bent down and brushed a feather-light kiss across Piggy’s unfurrowed brow before turning to go. Her eyes opened and
she smiled up at Kermit sleepily.
“What time is it?” she asked, her eyes automatically straying toward the clock. “Do I have an early call?”
“It’s early yet,” Kermit murmured, “and you don’t have an early call. In fact, you have the morning off. I’ll send the limo around for you at lunchtime.”
“But Kermie—” Piggy protested, but Kermit shushed her.
“We’ll go to Robertos.” He watched her eyes light up.
“Oooh! Really?”
“Promise.” Kermit bent to kiss her briefly—just briefly—before he headed for an early morning at the studio. He had the best of intentions—truly the best—of making a subsequent dash for the door and moving a mound of paperwork before his friends arrived on the set. The best of intentions….

Kermit was only slightly disheveled when he arrived on the set the next morning. His attempt to steal away without waking Piggy had been less than successful, and she had convinced him to linger with little effort. When he had finally managed to escape, he had left the house a happier—if slightly more rumpled—frog.
He opened the day of filming with an apology to the cast and crew for his crankiness the day before and was rewarded for his humility by the grateful and forgiving faces of his friends and colleagues. “What a great bunch of guys,” Kermit thought, humbled by the outpouring of support. “I am one lucky frog.” By mid-morning, they were well ahead of schedule and plowing along with an energy and joie de vie that had not been felt on the set in a long time. He had the distinct pleasure of sending everyone off for lunch early and strolled toward the front gate to meet Piggy’s limousine. Checking his watch, Kermit punched in Piggy’s private cell phone, but no sooner had he confirmed her arrival inside the studio gates than his phone beeped annoyingly. Scowling at the number flashing on his screen, he let out a hearty sigh.
“Piggy,” he said, “I’ve got to take this call, but I’ll meet you inside the restaurant.”
A pause.
“No, honey—five minutes—no more.”
Another pause.
“Yes. I promise.”
Yet another, longer pause.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Be right there.”

True to form, Piggy made a sensational entrance at Roberto’s. Her summer dress was everything a summer dress should be—feminine, breezy and revealing of just enough firm tan skin to make old men and young boys sigh. Piggy’s face was shaded becomingly by a painted straw hat and her sunglasses shaded her violet eyes. Eschewing the flatter, more sensible summer sandals that young women now affected, Piggy’s strappy high heels—appearing first out of the limo door—were tall enough to give a window-cleaner a nosebleed. She walked with careful nonchalance up to the door, where a valet with more brass on his jacket than a five-star general opened the door with a flourish. He was rewarded with a slight lowering of the sunglasses, and a smile that had made lesser men faint at twenty paces. Fifteen minutes later, he was still a little wobbly on his feet.
“First time, Joe?’ his older partner asked.
“Yeah, Marty,” Joe answered weakly. “I know she used to come here a lot—back when they were dating, but I’ve never seen her, you know, up close before.”
“Yeah,” Marty mused. “Miss Piggy and Mr. Frog used to be regulars, but I haven’t seen ‘em in, well, it’s been a while. Glad to see her back.”
“So where’s, you know, Mr. Frog these days?”
“Busy, I hear.”
Joe sighed. “Lucky frog.”
Marty chuckled. “No—I meant busy working. He’s some sort of big shot at the studio now—corner office and all that. But he’s a real regular guy, though. I remember--”
Marty’s reminiscences were cut short by the arrived of two closely spaced luxury cars. Joe took the first and, after calling discreetly for backup, Marty slipped behind the wheel of a fully loaded Lexus and wheeled it expertly into the parking garage. He did not notice a short, trench-coated character with a much-worn notebook slip between the highly polished glass doors, and it was a genuine shame he did not. Marty knew how to deal with riff-raff like that, and would have taken great pleasure in doing so. And if he had, a great deal of heartache all around would have been avoided.
Shortly after the retreating trenchcoat had disappeared inside, Kermit ran breathlessly up to the door, tucking his tie back into his coat. A very young man, his valet coat impeccable, held the door for him.
“Where’s Marty?” Kermit asked. “Still here, I hope?”
The young man nodded quickly. “Marty’s still here—keeping everything the way it ought to be at Roberto’s. He ought to be back in about—“ A cuff was shot and a watch consulted. “Oh. I’m sorry, sir. You just missed him. His shift ended a few minutes ago.”


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Mar 10, 2006
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NYARRGGGHHH!!!! That scream you just heard... right through the walls? That was me... sorry.

Ruahnna! Oh my goodness!!! I come here and see not one, but two bits of story, the first melting me into a puddle with your typical efficiency, and the second dragging me in and then promising pain! Aiieee! Have I proclaimed my undying respect and affection yet today? I haven't? Well, the flowers and an autographed photo of our favorite couple are on their way.

There's so much I like about this I don't know where to start. You know, I admire your courage. why? Well, 'cause frankly, I completely adoring reading and imagining the scenes, so emotionally perfect, that you pull off so effortlessly, but even if I were actually capable of producing writing of that quality I could never share it, just because of the emotional impact.

I feel like Gonzo after he's been hit with a steam roller, flattened and fabulous.

I don't really know if I had any part in inspiring this, but I may just have to post more stories that you don't like if this is the treat I get in return. "Kermie's Girl" probably has absolutely nothing to do with Gonzo's line to Piggy in my last bit of writing, but I'm still thrilled with the inadvertant connection. And ushy-gushy! That's offcially replaced my favorite adjective.

Okay, I'm just raving now. Deep breath... don't be weird... that's better. I know you're gonna break my heart, I know it, but you like happy endings even more than I do, so it's gonna be okay! Right? Right?!

Whoosh... breathing. Good. Loved Kermit's good intentions and Piggy's easy derailment of said intentions. Loved the phrase "happier- if slightly more rumpled- frog".
Can't stop smiling when I think of "He was rewarded with a slight lowering of the sunglasses, and a smile that had made lesser men faint at twenty paces. Fifteen minutes later, he was still a little wobbly on his feet."

Loved the valets,honestly love the trouble that's coming, even as I dread it. Loved Kermit's making up (out?:embarrassed: ) with Piggy in the first story, especially her electic muumuu, and fell completely to pieces at the "you can count on me" moment. Oh, and the 'sweet' negligee which still has me humming 'Somebody's getting married'. I am always thrilled with the way you describe Piggy's diva grandstanding without leaving out her actual talent and professionalism.

I should stop raving. I should. One more thing, love the tender, unguarded moment before Piggy wakes up. Loved it.


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Oct 24, 2003
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I have to confess--this was the first Muppet thing I wrote, and I wrote it, well, a few years ago. Most of my other stories have stemmed from this story, this premise--that Kermit sortof wakes up one day and realizes that he's too busy persuing fame and the almighty dollar to actually enjoy the dream he's helped create. Glad you guys are liking them. And yes, Leyla--my working title for this story was just "Kermit" (shockingly original, I know), but when I reread your story today, it had to be "Kermie's Girl." Working on editing the next section--posting soon!


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Oct 24, 2003
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Chapter 2: Chez Roberto's

When Kermit joined Piggy at their customary table in the private dining room, every cook in the kitchen was standing in rapt attention behind Roberto, who hovered over Piggy in a paroxysm of delight.
“Ah Miss Piggy,” he exulted, opening her silk napkin with a flourish. “The little lady with the bellisimo appetite!”
Spying Kermit, Roberto advanced on him, embraced him, kissed him on both cheeks and fell—weeping—into his arms. Kermit patted his back a little awkwardly.
“Wow, Roberto—great to see you. It’s been, uh, well I guess it’s been a little longer than I thought. It’s great to, um, see you.“
Roberto pulled himself together with effort. “Is enough!” he said, taking off his chef’s hat and wiping his tears with it. As though by unseen elves, the damp hat was removed from Roberto’s clasped hands and a freshly-laundered, perfectly poufed, pristine white hat appeared on his head. “I make something special!” he announced, and strode toward the kitchen. Soundlessly, with perfect precision, the junior chefs fell in behind him. Though they were too well-disciplined to chatter, the air of suppressed excitement made itself felt.
Kermit gazed across the table at Miss Piggy and was rewarded when her eyes met his warmly, intently, and she smiled just for him. Kermit had withstood thousands of such smiles, but he was not unaffected. He reached across the table and took her hand.
“You look wonderful, Piggy.”
“You are sweet to say so, Kermie.” They smiled at each other, remembering, then Piggy withdrew her hand, a little flustered.
“Filming went well this morning?” she asked.
“Yes—we’re doing great. Everything’s ready for this afternoon’s shoot.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to it.”
It was funny, making small talk with the frog she’d been married to for several years now (by anyone’s count), but they were suddenly aware of each other in a way that they hadn’t been the day before, tuned to each other in a way that only the other could hear. If the food had been any less superb—if the chef had been anyone other than Roberto—neither would have noticed what they ate. Kermit only had to leave the table twice to deal with business, but returned almost immediately, and one of those intervals was amply filled when Randy Travis peeked mischievously into the room and waved at Piggy. Piggy laughed and motioned him over, and they had just about two minutes of “well what are you doing here” conversation before Kermit rejoined them, and a white-jacketed waiter arrived and shooed Randy away with deep disapproval. Peeking into the private dining room—though common practice—was strongly discouraged at Roberto’s.
Distracted though she might have been by Kermit’s attentiveness, Piggy did enough justice to the food to send Roberto into transports of rapture. Kermit had needed little coaxing to eat himself into a happily uncomfortable state. Roberto was beside himself with joy and led them, weeping again, to the door and their waiting limo, pressing a dignified carry-out box with two enormous pieces of coconut cream pie on them despite their protests. Backed up by a row of solemn but proud junior chefs, he waved until their limo had completely disappeared from sight.
Afternoon filming zipped along at a frantic pace, but it was a vastly different sort of frantic than they’d experienced the day before. Kermit seemed to be everywhere—consulting, advising, supporting, suggesting—and the cast and crew jumped happily at every chance to prove themselves. Why—with this sort of energy, they might just film all night!


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Oct 24, 2003
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Chapter 3: Treasure Seekers

“Look, Piggy—it’s us!” They were comfortably ensconced on the big brass day bed in the den, munching popcorn and flipping idly thought the channels. True to his word, Kermit had sent the cast and crew home by 8 p.m., handed Piggy into the studio limo and—to her complete astonishment—climbed in after her. Secretly delighted but openly dubious, Piggy kept expecting Kermit to casually mention a dinner appointment or a late-night meeting, or to press a party attendance upon her. She watched him from under lowered lashes as he’d used the limo phone to order Chinese delivered to their home. He placed the phone back on its receiver and leaned back against the luxurious leather, smiling at Piggy and reaching for her hand. Caught off guard, she smiled back at him, returning the pressure of his hand.
Once home, he’d shooed her off to change into comfy clothes while he ferried the food into the den and opened a bottle of wine. Changing quickly into shorts and a polo himself, he trotted back to the kitchen, emerging triumphantly with a large, buttery bowl of popcorn just as Piggy stepped off the landing. She was wearing an oversized purple tee-shirt, white leggings and pink powder-puff scuffs, and her hair was clipped up on top of her ears with a clip that spelled out “princess” in rhinestones.
Perhaps it was the outfit—the combination of brashness and whimsy—or maybe it was the uncertainty lurking in her eyes, but for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Kermit was overcome with tenderness. He shifted the bowl of popcorn under one arm and reached for her hand. After the slightest of hesitations, Piggy had put her hand in his and let him lead her back to the dimness of the den.
Now, she looked at the screen and let out a little bleat of dismay. It was—indeed—them, some few years earlier. It was always strange to happen upon oneself on television like this, cavorting to some half-remembered script, immortalized on the screen. In this particular incarnation, they were on the soundstage that had been converted into a Caribbean island replete with pirates, a herd of wild swine and innumerable and improbable others.
“Oh—I’d forgotten about that awful headdress.”
“What awful headdress? You looked stunning.”
“Of course Moi looked stunning,” she sniffed. “It’s just a wee bit harder when wardrobe is so unreasonable.”
“Well I thought you looked incredible,” Kermit said firmly. “That outfit made you look exotic.”
Piggy perked up at once. “Exotic?”
“Um hum. And alluring,” Kermit assured her. For a moment, Piggy stared.
“He’s good,” she growled to nobody in particular. “You’ve got to admit
he’s good.”
Kermit beamed at her and snuggled closer, one hand landing casually on her soft, rounded thigh. His hand was warm and buttery. Piggy pushed the hand away but did not put any distance between them. When they returned to watching the screen in companionable silence, Kermit’s hand slipped back onto her thigh.
“Ohh—there’s my big scene,” Piggy cooed, watching as she passionately defended her frog to dastardly pirates. On screen, Tim Curry, playing the pirate Long John Silver, kissed her soundly. “I’d forgotten about that part,” Piggy said demurely, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
“That hardly seems likely,” Kermit huffed with remembered ire. “You did almost 20 takes,”
“Twenty-three,” she said sweetly. “It was not Moi’s fault that Timmie kept flubbing his lines.”
It was true. Although he had appeared contrite, the handsome young actor had not seemed to mind kissing Piggy several, several times while the rest of his lines seemed to evaporate from his head. Take after take, the scene remained uncaptured on film. Kermit had been genuinely annoyed when they’d finally gotten an acceptable take and stopped for lunch, and Piggy had not done much to salve his pique. She had been scintillating that day, Kermit remembered fondly, and the atmosphere on the set had been highly charged because of it. The unexpected and ostensibly unwanted attention from her costar and Kermit’s rather obvious jealously had left her flustered and a little giggly. She had fled back to her trailer to prepare for the afternoon shoot.
Kermit had gotten his own back after lunch, however, when the time had come for their big scene together. The duet had gone extremely well, and Kermit had played to the romantic overtones of the scene, gazing at her soulfully while he crooned and made delicious little designs on her hand that no one could see. (“Much like the delicious little designs that Piggy is so deliberately ignoring now,” Kermit thought with smug satisfaction.”)
He could tell Piggy was responding to his voice and his touch, but the cameras were rolling and she was no more free to flee from his proximity than she had been to escape her other costar’s eager kisses—less even, given the nature of the scene. The rope that appeared to be holding Piggy aloft snapped. Now Kermit was clasping her ankles firmly. His deft little hands made scorching little patterns that were driving Piggy wild—he had reason to know that her ankles were very sensitive—but she was powerless to stop him without betraying her discomfiture.
One of the cameras began to malfunction. Filming stopped while the technicians swarmed over the set.
Piggy twisted around and shot Kermit a murderous look. “Stop this instant,” she hissed.
“Why?” Kermit asked with infuriating impudence. “I was under the impression that you liked—“
“Never mind what I like you—you—“
“And the view from here is so, um…exotic,” he said softly, pitched for her ears only. “And alluring.”
“I see London, I see France—“ Kermit sing-songed. “I see leopard-print—“
Piggy let out a muffled howl and clutched ineffectively at her skirt, but Kermit’s view was unimpeded. Before she could respond the camera had been coaxed back into service. She played the rest of the scene with grim determination, and waited with supreme self-control while they unhooked the harness that held her. Resisting the urge to slap away the helpful hands restoring her costume to rights, Piggy thanked them sweetly and made for her trailer with as much haste as dignity would allow. The door had only just shut when it opened again.
Kermit stood framed in the doorway, an appealing lopsided smile on this face. “Piggy, “ he began tenderly, holding out his arms.
The next moment found him flat on the floor where he had dived to avoid the many objects flying toward him. While she tossed everything within arm’s reach, she kept up a steady stream of ladylike insults aimed at amphibians in general, frogs in particular and Kermit Himself. When she had run out of steam and invective, Kermit got carefully to his feet and approached her.
She threw her headdress at him. He caught it and set it aside.
“You stay away from me you—you—frog!” she panted, but Kermit was unfazed.
“Sweetheart,” he began, his voice low and pleading.
“Don’t you sweetheart me, you awful, terrible—“
He was beside her in an instant. Piggy gasped and backed away. Though spacious, the trailer left little room for maneuvering. Piggy flattened herself against the wall, but Kermit reached out and tugged her into his arms with surprising strength. She huffed and puffed but there was no where to go, and Kermit’s arms molded her closer gently.
“Don’t be mad, Piggy,” Kermit said softly. “You know I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.” He snuggled closer.
“Don’t you even think about--” Piggy began, but Kermit’s kiss silenced her effectively. His lips were gentle over hers, seeking—rather than demanding—a response. For a moment, her passion warred with her pique. Passion won out and, with a little sigh, Piggy melted against him. Gradually, his kiss deepened, becoming more insistent. Piggy clung to him, returning his hungry kiss with all the pent-up ardor the afternoon had yielded, which was much more than enough to push them both over the edge. The set closed down outside and the cast and crew wandered away while Kermit did his gentlemanly best to fulfill every single promise his teasing hands had implied.

They watched the scene in silence, but the room seemed somehow closer and warmer than before. “It’s not fair,“ Piggy murmured ruefully. “Everyone thinks you’re so nice.”
“I am nice,” Kermit said guilelessly, looking up at her. A hint of mischief played around his eyes, but he remained solemn.
Piggy looked at him levelly. The hand was back on her thigh. “That’s nice,” she said noncommittally.
Kermit leaned closer, slipping his arms around her waist.
“How about this?” he murmured, whispering sweet, incendiary nothings into one soft, pink ear. A deeper blush crept up her cheeks.
“Better,” she whispered, and lowered her gaze. She did not trust herself to look at him.
With a little tug, Kermit leaned back against the cushions and pulled her unresisting form into his arms. “And this?”
Piggy sighed, abandoning all pretense of disinterest. She answered his slow kiss with deliberateness, savoring the luxury of time alone with her frog.
“It’ll do,” she teased, then let out a gasp as Kermit set out to prove how very nice he could be.


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Mar 10, 2006
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Ah, and you've melted me into a puddle yet again. I spend more time in mush form lately, wow.

I love the whole restaurant staff, particularly Roberto, and their rapture at Piggy's "bellisimo" appetite. Too funny! I love how visually you write. I've never had a minute of trouble picturing the scenes you describe.

Liked Randy Travis peeking in, even as it fills me with dread. I mean, this whole thing was so sweet and happy and romantic, and yet, it's all going to go horribly wrong! I'm worried!

Back to the happy stuff... loved Piggy's outfit... I always love Piggy's outfits, right down to the Princess hair clip. I find Piggy's uncertainty about Kermit actually spending time with her without having to go to work very touching.

I think the whole scene, with them curled up together, watching MTI basically sums up everything I like about your writing. It's so homey, so lovely.

Piggy's reaction to her headdress is priceless as are Kermit's reassurances... exotic and alluring, which ends up being brilliant foreshadowing for the scene from the film. I laughed so hard tears ran down my face. "I see London, I see France..." Oh, that's wonderful! I love it when Kermit is all teasing like this. Loved the fight and it's ushy-gushy resolution. Really liked Piggy's protest that everyone thinks Kermit is so nice. That was really funny.

Still love all the kissy-kissy action. It's so cuddly!


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Sep 1, 2003
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oooo I love this story too. I can also picture what is going on as I read. I too loved them watching MTI I can't wait to read the next chapter.Amazing job! I love your style of writing!:smile: :smile: :smile:


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Oct 24, 2003
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Chapter 4: At the The Frogs

Weekend mornings were sometimes a little more leisurely at the "the Frogs" than the usual chaos on mornings where getting to the studio was necessary. Kermit came downstairs to the savory smell of brewing coffee and made his way to the kitchen after a quick stop-off for the morning paper. Sneaking up behind Piggy, he pressed a kiss against her cheek and settled down to read the morning paper with a steaming cup of java. Without being asked, he passed over the advertisements, and Piggy perused them in a desultory manner until Kermit let out a small grunt of surprise.
“Piggy—you made the cover of the celebrity section.”
Piggy looked up, surprised but not shocked to find herself the center of attention.
“What is it this time?’ she asked. “Is it that charity auction?”
“Um, er, no….” Kermit, reading slowly, was suddenly debating the wisdom of having mentioned it, and Piggy knew her frog to well too not read his mood. Her ears perked up and she straightened in her chair.
“Show me,” she demanded. Kermit passed the paper over without comment.
Piggy’s face was a study in confusion, disbelief and then hurt. She looked up at Kermit, stuptified, and then looked down at the picture and caption again.
“But I—I don’t understand—“ she began, obviously flustered. “That’s me, but I don’t know what—Oh!’ She covered her mouth with her hands.
“Piggy?” He reached for her hand. “What is it?”
“Yesterday—when you went out to take that call.”
“At Roberto’s?” She passed the paper over to him, nodding, and he looked at the picture more closely. Although photographers were not allowed in that fine eating establishment, the décor was undoubtedly Roberto’s private room, and there wasn’t a Hollywood notable who wouldn’t have known it. But it wasn’t the décor or having herself photographed in that tony eatery that had upset her—it was the fact that she was obviously leaning forward to accept a kiss from Randy Travis, and Kermit was nowhere to be seen. She looked at Kermit miserably, then dropped her eyes to read the caption again.
“Is Miss Piggy, currently filming for Rainbow productions, contemplating a new dish? Although publicists for Mr. Travis insist the two are “just friends,” this reporter thinks a private little nosh for two seems to imply more. We’ll keep you posted!”
After the third reading, Piggy finally dragged her eyes to the byline, letting out a little shriek of fury.
“That—that ridiculous little scum-monger!” she said venomously. “Kermit—it’s him—Fleet Scribbler!’
“Scribbler?! What’s he doing in a reputable newspaper?”
“I don’t know,” Piggy said, her anger deflating into dismay. “I guess—I guess the picture seemed too good to pass up.” She looked up suddenly, her eyes meeting Kermit’s. “Kermit, I’m so sorry—I mean, I didn’t—I wouldn’t—it was just….” Her lower lip began to tremble and Kermit pushed back his chair and came to put his arms around her.
“It’s okay, Honey,” he said with a laugh. “I was there—remember? I know what happened.” He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “I know you, Piggy.”
“But the paper—people will think—“
“Actually,” Kermit said dryly, letting his snarky side out on a short leash, “most people won’t, but I don’t care about that. I care about you.”
“Oh, Kermie-“
“Shhh—c’mon, get dressed. Let’s go for a drive—get out of town. We’ll take a picnic.”
Piggy lifted her face. “Really?”
“Really. C’mon—spit spot, Missy.” He shooed her up the stairs, making her giggle with a pat on the bum. But after she left, Kermit’s smile faded, and his face became more grim. He wanted to get her out of the house before the phone started ringing.