Let me be the first to admit that writing a story of this size in chronological order in front of other people is harder than I thought it would be. So some of this section and the few previous sections, and probably the next few sections or even the whole durn rest of the story is not going to run completely smoothly. I hope this will help YOU where I may have been unclear:
It is 3 hours later in California, time-wise, than in New York.
There are characters all over the map right now, and I don't always know when I'm writing which particular order different scenes happen in real time. What I do (usually) know is what happens NEXT to each character in the time they are currently experiencing.
This means that I have, in this next thread, things that happen late Friday night in Vegas, things that happen early Saturday morning in California and things that happen at various times on Saturday in New York. So you're going to have to sort it out a little. When I get the whole blinking thing DONE then I might have to move things around. Until then, cope, please. (Pretty please?)
Chapter 126: Exceeding Expectations, Once Again
The ride back to Vegas was anything but quiet, but Clifford felt quiet as he sat in the back of the van with the instruments and listened to the girls—er, ladies—chatter about the offer. They had managed to contain their excitement with a heroic act of will while there were still patrons in the Bat, Bolt and Skull, worried that a bevy of excited females might prove overwhelming for those monsters who were already a little behavior-challenged. It was a testament to their exhilaration that they actually allowed Clifford to help them. But once the van had been loaded, Clifford had climbed into the back and listened as they squealed and shouted and talked and talked and talked about making the new album and about the U.S. tour that would start as soon as the album had been recorded.
“He said the label’s looking for a new sound,” Tricia had explained, “and needed an act that was strong musically.” She grinned at them, her face flushed in the dashboard light. She was driving, Susie riding shot-gun. Coraline sat on the floor behind the hump, with Tia and Tootsie in on either side. “He said it didn’t hurt that we awfully easy on the eyes,” she muttered, but her expression made it plain that she hadn’t taken offence.
“What else?” Susie had said, bouncing up and down in the passenger seat as the old van jolted down the highway.
“Hey!” protested Tia. “You’re gonna make Bob fall!”
Clifford reached out and put a hand on Bob’s, um, neck, holding the sleek instrument securely. “I got ‘im,” Clifford insisted quietly. “We’re good back here.”
Tricia half-turned in the seat before she caught herself, then kept her eyes determinedly on the road. “He, um, said he’d like at least half the music to be original. I told him that was no problem.”
That sent a ripple through the van, each of the women lost in their own thoughts. “We’ve got Making It On Our Own,” said Tootsie, and the other girls nodded. It had kind of become their theme song.
“And there’s, Brassy Lady,” said Susie, turning to look at Tia. “That one’s good.”
“We need something that showcases Coraline’s killer chops,” Tricia insisted, turning to flash a quick grin at the lead guitarist on the floor. Clifford saw the flash of her smile in the darkness and wished…well, lots of things. It was probably for the best. The last thing he needed was to have a messy relationship with Mabel’s daughter. It might spoil things between them all, and that would be a shame. A darned shame….
*******************************
Thoreau and Howard watched with interest as Piggy opened the little package first. When she finally lifted the lid of the little silver-wrapped box, the room filled with the sound of awe—and “ahhhhhs.”
Piggy lifted the pearl-and-diamond-drenched bracelet out of the box and laid it across the palm of one lilac satin glove. It glittered enough for Piggy to be mildly embarrassed, but she did not mind being embarrassed by Kermit’s generosity in front of her good friends. If Kermit had come with them, she would have taken great delight in embarrassing Kermit with her own riches, but the second wrapped box was—sadly—too small to contain her frog.
“Oh my,” said Thoreau, and Piggy could see from the expression on his face that he was already designing an outfit around her newest bling.
“It’s lovely,” said Howard frankly. “I don’t know why everyone thinks he’s such a cheapskate.”
“It’s the movies,” Piggy said, matter-of-fact-ly. “We’re always poor in the movies. People just assume….” She trailed off. Never mind what people assumed.
“Let’s hear it for real life, then,” said Thoreau, taking Piggy’s fingers with his own to hold the bracelet up to the light. “Piggy, Honey, this is an astounding testament of undying love,” he drawled lightly.
“Yes,” said Piggy. “Moi has certainly inspired Mon Capitan this time.” Her supreme self-confidence in the face of Kermit’s gift was heartening—to her and to her friends. Although she had looked positively radiant when she walked in, her mood was somewhat subdued compared to her usual sassiness.
“Open the other one,” Howard prompted. “There’s probably a car in it.”
“She could sell this bracelet and buy a car,” Thoreau murmured, thinking rather benevolent thoughts about the frog right about now. When separated from the object of your desire, gifts of expensive jewelry were a perfectly acceptable way of saying, “I miss you,” and the little amphibian had outdone himself. He watched with interest while Piggy opened the second box.
At first, they stared at it, not sure what to make of it. Finally, after a moment’s consternation, Piggy reached into the box and lifted the simple white t-shirt from the box, her face suffused with tenderness. She sniffed, trying to hold back tears, and Howard and Thoreau looked at her in surprise.
“Sweetie?” asked Thoreau.
“Piggy?” Howard queried. “What on earth—oh. Oh!” Comprehension flooded his face and he smiled. “Well, give the frog a gold star,” he murmured, then started to explain to Thoreau, but the designer had realized what the box contained at almost the same moment as Howard. They grinned at each other when Piggy held the garment up to her cheek and sighed.
“Nice,” said Thoreau. “I believe I may have been underestimating the frog.” He had thought the same thing more than once already on this trip to New York.
Piggy giggled and wiped her eyes with the pristine handkerchief the dressmaker handed her, careful not to get tear stains on Kermit’s shirt. It smelled like him, clean and sleek and slightly swampy, and it aroused a surge of homesickness and loneliness even as it banished the same. Carefully, Piggy put the shirt back into the box and rewrapped it, looking forward to tonight when she could go to sleep and snuggle into slumber with it.
“Kermie is very thoughtful,” she said, wiping her eyes one final time. Both men knew that—if asked which gift she valued most—she would say Kermit’s shirt instead of the bracelet.
“That was thoughtful,” Howard agreed. He fetched Piggy a cup of coffee and a muffin. The coffee she received gratefully, but she passed on the muffin. Initially, her refusal of food was met with worry and despair on the part of her friends, but she explained about Moishe, and the cheese danish and they relented. By the time they were all seated cozily around the coffee table, Piggy’s tears had dried and she had regained her aura of divahood.
“We’re going to the theater first to meet everyone,” she said. “If we go now, everyone will be pretty available. If we wait until later in the afternoon, things can get chaotic.” While they were there, Thoreau would inspect and possibly tweak the outfit she was to wear tomorrow on camera with Kermit. “So we’ll meet and greet, then get some lunch. I’ll take you anywhere you boys want to go in the city, provided we can get there and back in time.”
There was a flurry of activity as the men got ready to face New York. Piggy thought fondly that she had taken less trouble getting herself ready that morning, unless of course you counted working on the bags under her eyes. She had been up too late. Up too late talking to Fleet. Piggy flushed with guilt and pleasure. He had been very sweet, very reassuring, and he had not said anything bad about Kermit or her marriage or…or anything. She had felt him trying to please her through the phone line, and it had brought back a tidal flood of memories—things she had long forgotten.
When they had been starting out, Fleet had been so helpful, so ready to listen if she wanted to talk. She could talk to him about anything, and the thing that had made it easiest was that he put so few demands on her, always grateful for her company, always happy to take her call. She could even talk to him about Kermit—had even talked to him about Kermit, and, well, if some of that wishful thinking on her part made it into an article, Piggy had not minded. Kermit, on the other hand, had minded a great deal. He had never been a big fan of her relationship with Fleet—for obvious reasons. He would never understand her talking to Fleet—not after everything that he’d written—and she could not explain about Fleet’s rescue without relating the terrifying incidents that led up to it. It was a miserable conundrum, and though Piggy kept pushing it out of mind, it kept returning, again and again, to haunt her.
“Earth to Piggy. Thinking of hubby?” Thoreau teased, and Piggy started guiltily and blushed again.
“None of your beeswax,” Piggy had growled, and though both men laughed, Piggy had not found it very funny at all.
********************************
“I thought you were going to come back with a danish?” Chad demanded as his mother arrived in the kitchen with no paper sack in sight.
His mother flashed him a wide smile. “No…,” she said, “But there was a good-looking Italian guy on the corner who admired my, um, ankles as I walked by.”
Chad was mortified but Rory just laughed. Chad’s mother kissed him on the cheek as she came into the kitchen, then fished in her purse for the white paper sack. She handed it to Rory and kissed his cheek as well. Rory looked inside.
“No danish,” he said sadly, and Chad turned, crestfallen.
“No danish?” he asked, his dark eyes tragic.
Rory grinned. “She bought bear claws,” he said, and handed Chad the bag so he could have first pick.
Chad’s mother took the mug of coffee Rory proffered and sat down at their little table. “So, Rory,” she said, after a sip and a sigh. “When do I get to meet this pig of yours?”
************************************
Clifford must have dozed. A particularly bone-jarring jolt caused him to startle to wakefulness and he looked around wildly.
“Where’s Bob?” he asked thickly, and heard Tricia’s quiet answer.
“He went with Tia,” she said. “Everybody’s been dropped off.” Her voice was light and neutral, but Clifford heard the strain in it. He stood up in the moving van and made his unsteady way to the front to plop down into the passenger seat. Tricia waved at the seat belt without taking her eyes off the road, and Clifford fastened it.
“That was some fine musicianship,” Clifford said, treading lightly but trying to steer them onto safe conversational territory. He wanted them to be friendly—maybe even friends.
“Thanks—it was good,” said Tricia, and he could hear the jubilation in her voice. “The audience was really great. We…I—thank you. For setting everything up.”
“No problem,” said Clifford. “Just doing a favor for a friend.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Clifford saw Tricia look down, embarrassed. “I appreciate the favor,” she said, trying hard to sound grateful and not humiliated. “I—“
“I didn’t mean you,” Clifford teased. “I did a favor for the guy that owns the Bat, Bolt and Skull.”
Tricia drove, blinking rapidly for a few minutes, and when she answered him, her voice was level. “Good for him,” she said at last.
Clifford smiled in the darkness. “Good for everybody.”
*******************************
Scooter came into the kitchen dressed for work. Sara was up, showered and made-up, but had put her fluffy pink bathrobe back on over her undergarments. Although Sara had a nice collection of intriguing loungewear, Scooter liked the sight of her making breakfast for him in her this robe. She looked comfortable and at home—like she belonged in his kitchen. He walked up and put his arms around her waist as she stood at the stove, then bent and kissed her neck fondly.
“I’m cooking!” Sara protested, giggling.
“You’re telling me!” Scooter said, and was thrilled when Sara put down the spoon she’d been stirring with to turn and embrace him. Hmmm. Sara’s kisses were better than caffeine, Scooter thought, but since both were available…. When Sara released him, he poured a cup and sat at the little kitchen table. It had a tablecloth, now, and the dishes usually matched, and there were cute little magnets on the fridge now. Life was good.
Sara had turned with the kettle in hand and was giving him a quizzical smile. “I know you aren’t smiling like that because I’m making oatmeal,” she said.
Scooter made a face. Eating healthier was the price tag on surrendering his kitchen, but it was well worth it. “No,” he said. “I’m not smiling about the oatmeal.”
“Then what?” Sara demanded.
Scooter was quiet so long, just looking at her, that she blushed and looked away. “I’ve been with Kermit and the gang since I was 14 years old,” he said softly. “They’ve been everything a family ought to be—weird and funny and stern and affectionate. And weird. Did I say weird?”
“You did,” said Sara, smiling at him.
“And I’ve been with Kermit for…gosh, I guess from the beginning. I don’t know if I was very much help at first, but now…I…I think I carry my load.”
Sara put the oatmeal down and sat down across from him, reaching for his hand. What a funny mood he was in today! “Sweetie, you carry your load and several others. Everybody knows that.”
But Scooter waved her away. “Thanks,” he said, “but not where I was going.”
“Okay…?”
“And all the time I’ve been working for Kermit I’ve been watching him and Miss Piggy, watching them flirt and fight and break up and make up and—finally, sort it all out and get married.”
“I believe you helped quite a bit with that last.”
Scooter grinned, remembering. “I think she’s forgiven me for that,” he said, then continued. “And I can’t tell you how many years I watched them and wondered….” Scooter cleared his throat. “And wondered if I would ever find someone of my own. If I would ever have what they had.” He cleared his throat again. “And then you came.”
Sara’s eyes filled with tears. “Scooter, Sweetie….”
“I was just minding my own business—well, Kermit’s business—“
“And everybody else’s,” Sara interjected, grinning.
“And everybody else’s business, and you showed up at that expo, covering—what was it?—Emerging Trends in Children’s Programming?”
“Emerging Trends in Children’s Educational Entertainment,” Sara corrected quietly.
“Yeah,” said Scooter. “And you wanted to talk to Kermit about his time on Sesame Street.”
“Um hum.”
“And I told you he was too busy to talk to you that day.”
“You big meanie,” Sara murmured.
“So I could get you to reschedule and come by the studio.”
“I thought you were blowing me off,” she said, remembering. “And then you called me to make a date.”
“An appointment,” Scooter corrected.
“A date,” Sara insisted. “I got the interview, but I got you, too.”
“You got me, too,” Scooter said. He smiled at her. “Lucky me.”
“Lucky us.”
****************************
Piggy’s friends had been as interesting to her castmates as her castmates had been to her friends. Mr. Lowery had been polite, acknowledging Thoreau’s preeminence and making a couple of well-placed comments about Howard’s accomplishments that had the astonished boar practically giddy with pleasure. Piggy thought the mutual admiration society had gotten off to a good start, and took her friends around to meet her co-stars. Rory had been suitably impressed and impressive, and Piggy was proud of him for making such a warm welcome. Kristen, who could be quite imperious when she wished, was gravely charming and deferential to Piggy, and Piggy saw Thoreau admiring her lean leggy-ness. He was undoubtedly designing something that would look marvelous on a figure like hers. Darcy’s unbridled enthusiasm and bubbly personality were comically endearing, and Piggy saw the men exchange amused smiles as they both bent over her hand. Harrison had blustered showily, but was so transparent that Piggy had merely taken his arm and told him firmly to “Knock it off!” whereupon he became meek and almost polite. The last stop was wardrobe, and Piggy knocked a little apprehensively, hoping that her bringing in a ringer wasn’t going to be offensive to Ramona, the quick-tongued, quick-fingered costumer who had been so accommodating to Piggy’s wardrobe needs..
But Piggy’s worries were completely unfounded. Thoreau, when he wanted to be, could haul up a devastating charm and he spoke knowledgeably and approvingly about the show’s wardrobe, dropping a couple of little hints that made it clear that he was aware of other shows Ramona had done. Although formal when they arrived, she and Thoreau were chatting like old friends in no time, leaving Piggy a moment with Howard.
“How is everything at the studio?” Piggy had asked. She had not wanted to appear worried in front of Thoreau, who had so much at stake on this trip.
“Everything I hear is good,” said Howard. He was not as completely plugged in to the studio grape-vine as others, but word made it around. “They’ve circled the wagons around your frog and he’s not moping or starving.”
“Moi hears that Scooter is working him like a frog,” Piggy murmured, and her blue eyes searched Howard’s, wanting to be reassured.
“You hear right,” Howard said. “They are working hard to get the film done.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry about opening night.”
Piggy gave a little half-shrug that was not negation, but pressed on. “Is he…do you think he’s happy?”
“Without you there? Not a chance!” said Howard, then chuckled at Piggy’s stricken look. “He’s fine, Honey. He’s busy. And Scooter will make sure he stays busy until he can come and see you.”
“Oh,” said Piggy, thoughtful. If Kermit was working, he would be okay without her.
“And then he can come up here and be busy,” Howard teased, and Piggy blushed and huffed and swatted him. Thoreau heard Howard say, “Ouch!” and tore himself away from Ramona’s conversation.
“Ramona says we can use do anything we want to the costumes,” he said, flushed with pleasure. “I’ve pulled the pedal-pushes and I’m not so sure I’m not going to want to see the prom dress. It’s actually sortof classic-classy,” he said, “if you don’t mind all the cleavage showing.”
“Moi doesn’t mind,” Piggy said complacently, her blue eyes satisfied, and both the men laughed and shepherded her expertly down the hall.
*********************
Kermit roamed the studio in the dark. Frog’s have pretty good night vision, and he could see plenty well enough to make the rounds without turning on the lights. It was still early—too early even for Scooter, but since he was already up and caffeinated and not dressed for the day, Kermit had come in shortly after Marty’s early-dawn call. Marty had already texted to say that Operation Worrywart was underway. Kermit made a grin that was half grimace. Marty had promised to absorb the fallout from Piggy—if there was any—and he was grateful, but he wondered again at Marty’s suggestion. When Piggy had been considering the role—as if she’d actually had a choice—no mention had been made of her needing security. Piggy had always been quite able to take care of herself physically, as he well knew. He caught himself rubbing his middle and grinned ruefully. He’d deserved most of what he’d gotten, and gotten more than he deserved when Piggy said “I do.” He wondered how the new bodyguard would fare and if Piggy would allow him to try and protect her. She could be very prickly if she felt she was being dismissed or dictated to, and he had thought of all the right things to say to soothe and sympathize with her if she called him to complain. Which she hadn’t.
Yet.
Kermit smiled, wondering if she had met up with Thoreau and Howard yet, wondering if she had opened his gifts. The bracelet had really been an anniversary gift, but he thought it would make her happy to wear it out and have it admired and be able to say, “Oh, yes, Mon Capitan was just thinking of Moi and bought me this little bauble.” He could hear her saying it now, and hoped that she would be saying to to genuine friends and admirers. Although she had been fairly vague about her cast-mates, he gathered that she was getting along swimmingly with the fellow that played Kenickie. Kermit tried to be glad about it, but it was hard. He did not like the idea of Piggy in someone else’s arms, and he did was already steeling himself for the time when he would see her onstage kissing someone else. Nope. He wasn’t going to like that at all.
He returned to the problem of Marty—or rather, to Marty’s solution to a problem that—earlier in the week--he wouldn’t have said they were having. Was Piggy safe? Had Marty somehow heard about Kermit adventure with the ice chest? New York was a tough place. Had Piggy been mugged? He remembered the way she had reacted when the script for The Muppets Take Manhatten had suggested that she might be mugged. They had argued long and loudly—pre-proposal—about the likelihood that she could be mugged, but they had finally prevailed. Actually, Jim had prevailed.
Jim could reason with even the unreasonable, and he had convinced Piggy how appealing and vulnerable she would seem if she had just been mugged, especially while thinking that her boyfriend was hugging other women! Trusting him, Piggy had deferred—to him and to Kermit—and had played the scene as written. But when they had suggested the opportunity to catch up to her mugger and exact a little of her own back…well, that had gone amazingly well. Kermit suspected that Gary Facon, the fellow who had played the unhappy mugger still looked over his shoulder when walking through Central Park. Kermit found himself in the kitchenette and stopped short, suppressing a shudder. He’d been wool-gathering again, and he warranted he’d gotten enough for an afghan, so he was more than relieved to hear the front door buzz. That would be Scooter, who would have seen his car in the lot. Kermit sighed, and set his face toward another busy day.
**************************
Piggy’s fashionable pantsuit had hidden the scrapes on her knees, but when they got down to the brass tacks of fitting her tight little pedal-pushers, the cat was out of the bag. When Thoreau reached unsuspectingly for her knee in order to inspect the hem, Piggy gasped when his strong hands grazed her bandaged skin and Thoreau drew back in surprise and consternation. When Piggy didn’t meet his eyes, he reached out and turned back the edge of the hem, then said a few choice words.
“What in the name of Broadway did you do?” he demanded. He reached out and turned up the other cuff, letting out a little hiss when he saw that both of her knees were scraped. Howard had stayed out of the way while Thoreau worked, but he came over and surveyed Piggy’s red, slightly swollen skin with a dark expression.
“What happened?” Howard said, and Piggy shrank back from their fierce expression.
“Moi, um, fell while, um—“
“We had a little mishap during rehearsal,” Rory’s voice said from the doorway. Underneath the chagrined expression he had pasted on his face, Piggy saw his jaw jut out defiantly and she knew he had dropped his eyes to hide the fury blazing in them.
“Just a little mishap,” Piggy repeated, retreating from her friends to go and stand alongside her co-star. “Moi was confused and leapt too soon. He tried to catch me, but—“
“It wasn’t her,” said Rory. “I missed my mark.” He swallowed, playing his part to perfection. “I’m really sorry, Piggy,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean….”
“It was not his fault,” Piggy cried, genuinely distressed. She had not asked Rory to take the blame for this, did not want him to take the blame for this!
But Piggy’s distress put all accusations aside.
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” said Thoreau soothingly.
“I’m sure it was an accident,” Howard said, but whether he was talking to Piggy or Rory was unclear. The hovered over her protectively, and Piggy looked up over their shoulders to see Rory looking at her levelly, his jaw working, as he leaned against the doorframe. She started to speak but he shook his head and slipped out the door, leaving her alone with her friends.
“Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it,” said Thoreau. “Come back over here and let me see what we can do.”
******************************
The van bumped and glided to a stop in the gravel driveway, and Tricia turned off the ignition but made no move to get out of the vehicle. Clifford sat too, not wanting to be the first one to leave. They had managed some polite conversation after he’d awoken, but nothing more, and Clifford saw her face in unhappy profile in the reflected glow of the porch light. Tricia opened her mouth to speak, then sighed and shut it again. She moved suddenly, heaving herself out of the car and closing the door in one smooth move. Clifford was slower, and he had just turned to shut his own door when Tricia came around the corner of the van.
Warily, they looked at each other, and Clifford had opened his mouth to speak when something slammed him back against the side of the van. The something was Tricia, who had thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him with enough energy to bring him fully and completely awake.
It was a testament to how surprised Clifford was that it took him a minute to shake off his shock and surprise, and another full minute to cotton on to the fact that a very enticing pair of lips had fastened on to his. He had caught her instinctively when they had lurched against the van, but now his arms moved to actually hold her to him, and his lips responded—then moved decisively over hers. When the kiss ended, Clifford’s head was spinning.
“I’m sorry,” said Tricia, her green eyes earnest. “I’m really sorry, Clifford. I was a total B, and I shouldn’t have assumed you were like all the oth—“ She stopped, biting her lip and looking away. “I should have listened.”
“Yes,” said Clifford, still a little defensive. Whoa! What a kiss!
“I should have trusted you.”
But here Clifford chuckled, and took her two soft shoulders and set her back form him a little. “I want to say ‘yes,’” he said seriously, “but I’m going to say ‘no.’ You have good instincts, although you are a little fast on the offensive.” He rubbed his neck ruefully. “Tricia, the person you need to trust here is yourself. When it comes to the band, trust yourself. As to the other….” Here, he sobered, looking off above Tricia’s head. “Look—I am a pretty decent guy,” he said, uncomfortable now. “But I don’t know if you should trust me enough to do what you just did.”
Tricia was looking at him uncertainly.
“Not that I didn’t like it—I did. It was…pretty straight up amazing,” he said, “but I do not know if you should trust me with your, um, lips.” He had almost said heart but had veered off at the last second, not wanting to presume.
Tricia continued to gaze at him, then her expression became sardonic and cocky. “Are you telling me what to do with my own lips?” she demanded.
Clifford saw the train coming down the track but couldn’t figure out how to get out of the way.
“Um, no ma’am,” he said.
“Would you like to tell me what to do with my own lips?” she demanded, out-and-out grinning now.
“Um, yes ma’am,” said Clifford. His mustache twitched in amusement. “But I am way too smart for that.”
Tricia regarded his serious face for a long moment, then socked him—hard—in the arm. “Darn it,” she said. “You are, aren’t you?” She stubbed the toes of her boots in the dirt. ”I’m sorry about, um, going off on you like that,” she said. “Really. I was out of line.”
“You mean the yelling, or the kiss?” Clifford said, and Tricia colored again, but she was still grinning.
“I’m sorry I yelled. Okay?”
“And the other?” Clifford said.
“I’m about to be,” said Tricia, turning away from him, but Clifford reached out and pulled her into his embrace. He tucked her head beneath his chin and held her against him, sighing.
“Don’t be,” he said at last. “Don’t be sorry about the, um, kiss.” They stood that way for a long moment, with no idea what to do next, with no idea what ought to come next, then Clifford loosened his hold and her and set her back from him.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside and tell Mom about the band.”
Welcome to the Muppet Central Forum!.jpg)
Christmas Music
Macy's Thanksgiving Parade
Jim Henson Idea Man
Back to the Rock Season 2
Bear arrives on Disney+
Sam and Friends Book
YOu re-read your own stuff?
Hey Fozzie, why don't you come over here and have some pancakes? I got your favorite - honey and a side of milk.
Gee, thanks Piggy! (starts eating) These are so good!
at the segment with Scooter and Sara.
