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Ruahnna
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I can't believe I'm admitting this out loud, but the song I have played the most on my MMW soundtrack is..."Moves Like Jagger." The only thing I can say is that, when I wrote this, I was obviously under the influence of muppet awesomeness. Here's what had come of it so far....
Smells Like “Swagger,” Moves Like Jagger
There was frantic pounding on the soundstage door, and Piggy pushed the handle and practically jerked the pounder inside.
“Thank you for coming!” Piggy said warmly, but the other woman clutched her arm insistently.
“No—thanks for calling me! I—is he…is he okay?”
Piggy wobbled her hand in the age-old symbol for “so-so,” then tucked her gloved hand beneath her friend’s arm and hustled her toward the soundstage. “It’s been pretty touch-and-go,” she said. “But I’m sure he’ll be fine now that you’re here.”
“Oh—I hope so,” Sara said. “He was…he’s been really worried about this.”
“Scooter will be fine,” said Piggy. She stopped and turned to face her friend. “Let me see,” she demanded.
Sara made a face and blushed, but she unbelted and unbuttoned the trench coat and let it fall open. Piggy made a sound of approval, then took the lapels and pulled the coat further open, frowning thoughtfully as she survey Sara’s wardrobe choice.
“How’d I…do?” Sara asked, worriedly. She tried not to squirm under Miss Piggy’s expert scrutiny, and sighed with relief when Piggy pursed her lips and smiled.
“Oh—you did fine, Sweetie,” Piggy said. “He won’t be able to think about being nervous when he sees you.”
Sara sighed and nodded and started to button her coat closed again, but Piggy shook her blond curls. “Nope—no time like the present,” Piggy insisted.
“But—but, do I…do I really have to, um, walk around backstage like this?”
“Well, if you’re wearing that, Moi would suggest slinking around,” Piggy said briskly, “but yes, the whole point is to catch his attention, so I think walking around backstage is going to be a good start.”
“But…but…everyone will see me!” Sara wailed. “I mean…I mean, they’ll see all of me.”
“Not quite,” Piggy said with deadly sweet smile. “You’ve still got a little mystery going there.”
Sara took a deep breath and shed the coat, revealing the little black dress in all its glory. Piggy waved her hand, indicating Sara should spin, and she did, showing off the low back and the shapely swell of her calves.
“If this doesn’t cure what ails your hubby, Moi doesn’t know what will,” Piggy said, then tucked her hand under Sara’s elbow and took her to where Scooter was.
****
“Okay,” said Scooter, running his hands through his hair. “Okay. This is fine. Fine. It’s going to be fine.” Scooter looked anything but fine. He was pale and his hair was pushed all out of place because he’d been distractedly running his hands through it.
“Wack wack,” said Blinky soothingly, and Scooter nodded at the penguin and swallowed convulsively.
“Sure—sure, that’s a good idea. If I just pretend—Sara!” Relief warred with anxiety on Scooter’s blotchy face, but he started toward her, then slowed and gave her a long, assessing once-over. “Sara…wow. What are you…why are you here?” His expression showed he clearly didn’t mind—quite the contrary—but it was a testament to his nervousness that the sight of her didn’t immediately discombobulate him.
Sara was feeling pretty nervous herself, but she took a deep breath and tried to smile normally. “I’m here to offer moral support,” she said brightly.
“Not in that dress,” Pepe murmured, and Sara started visibly and turned to find the little crustacean eyeing her backside. She turned and planted her feet, planning to ream the little shrimp out, but Scooter took her arms and gently put her aside. He stepped up in front of her, one arm out to shield her, and glared at the King Prawn.
“Eyes somewhere else,” Scooter gritted, sounding furious. Pepe’s little eyes opened wide and he swallowed his smart-aleck answer and bobbed his head instead.
“Lo siento, Senora Grosse,” Pepe said meekly and backed away. Sara was almost too surprised to speak, but when Scooter turned around, eyes searching hers, her tongue loosened and she used it to thank him properly.
“My hero,” she said, pulling away from her husband’s embrace. Scooter looked a little dazed, but it was a pleased sort of dazed and he did not look as pale as he had before. His mouth twisted into a wry smile.
“So…you’re here to see me make a fool of myself on this song,” he said, reaching for her hand. He looked her up and down appreciatively. “At least if I die of embarrassment, I’ll die happy.”
Sara put her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. “I did not come here to see you make a fool of yourself,” she insisted. “I came here to see you be totally sexy and amazing and—and if you don’t show up that stupid King Prawn I swear I will march right out there on stage and—“
“Okay, okay!” Scooter said, laughing at her vehemence. “Down, girl. I’ll go out there and do my best.” He started to turn away, but Sara reached out and grabbed a handful of his jacket, dragging him close, but not for a kiss.
“Keep in mind,” Sara threatened, “that I know what your best looks like.” She gave him a hard look, letting it sink in. “Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Scooter said, grinning broadly. He turned back to the stage and saw Kermit had been watching the interchange with some amusement and no little pride. Scooter looked at him, grinning sheepishly and shrugged. “You want me to go ahead and change into my costume or are we going to do another run-through?”
“Let’s do another run-through,” Kermit said, wisely not mentioning how disastrous the last run-through had been. “Then, we’ll get you changed and roll some film. Okay?”
Scooter grinned. “Okay,” he said. Kermit still said “film,” and Scooter was amused sometimes at how well Kermit managed to make modern movies with an old-fashioned sensibility. Speaking of old-fashioned sensibilities, Scooter tried to make light of his own nervousness. This set…this song…had actually started out as sort of a joke. The guys had been engaged in some good-natured ribbing, suggesting songs or acts for each other with varying degrees of ribaldry, but when someone had suggested the iconic Maroon 5 song for Scooter, he had not liked it very much when everybody had laughed. Despite the fact that he was Kermit’s right-hand man, despite the fact that he ran the set and printed the checks and kept Kermit on task and everybody else out of jail (well, mostly), they still treated him like a kid.
When Sara had shown up for the first time, eyebrows had raised, and he had felt his own estimation rise in the eyes of his friends. Scooter-with-a-girlfriend was a little more grown up than Scooter without one, and when that girlfriend became a fiancée (and in front of everyone, too), then his wife, Scooter had felt that his claim on adulthood had been secured, even in front of those who remembered him—overeager and puppyish at 14. Still, when it came to parceling out parts and songs, he rarely ever got the romantic solos, the sexy jambs. He got cute. He got quirky. He got everything but the girl. Since he had a girl back home, this hardly mattered.
Except that it did. It mattered more than it should, but it mattered all the same.
“Fine,” Scooter had muttered. “I’ll do that one in our next show.”
They had stared at him. Someone had tittered, but at his flushed face and sparking eyes, it had silenced immediately. “Um, you don’t have to do that one—“ Clifford began, and Scooter had to clench his jaw to stop himself from saying something rude.
Clifford had probably been smooth when he was a first-grader, parlaying with the ladies with no real effort, and having him come to Scooter’s rescue, give him an excuse and an out, rankled even though he appreciated the gesture.
“No—it’s fine. I will.”
“This I’ve got to see,” muttered someone who sounded suspiciously like Rizzo, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the fridge drawer again.
“Well, you can see it in the next show,” Scooter said stubbornly. “I’m going to do Moves Like Jagger in the next muppet show.”
And here he was. He had managed to make peace with it (he had told himself), and he’d even been sort of excited about it when the wardrobe came in, but now, with everyone waiting and watching for it to be filmed…this was not good, was not fine.
Only, Sara was here now. Having Sara here made everything much, much better.
He walked back onto the stage and took his place. He stood there a little awkwardly, then rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension away and bounced on the balls of his feet. Sara bit her lip. He looked adorable. He did not—in any way, shape or form—resemble rock legend Mick Jagger, but he was wonderful and sweet and very, very appealing to her at that moment. He said something in an aside to Blinky, then looked toward Kermit, who nodded and—just before the band started their intro, he turned and looked over at her. She had hoped he would, and when he did, she did a full-body shimmy that made Scooter gasp and cough and sputter, but he recovered in time to come in with the music.
Although Sara hadn’t been there for the rather disastrous earlier renditions, she could guess what they had been like. Despite performing in countless productions, Scooter was not a natural show-off. Sara believed that Scooter’s determination to take the stage had really been fueled more by sheer, teeth-gritting willpower than a burning need to be in the spotlight. He had told her—they had all told her—how Scooter had been foist upon them by his uncle, how he had come in eager and mildly obnoxious (but what 14-year-old isn’t?), throwing his (borrowed) weight around in a desperate attempt to not be thrown out on his ear. Scooter had told her—they had all told her—how they had come to love him as their own. He was their own And if they were going to be on the stage, then—By golly!—he was going to be on the stage, too. All this Sara knew, and she stood on the sidelines and watched Scooter trying to hit his stride singing a song that was not at all his usual mien.
She felt more than heard Piggy float up beside her, and she cast a quick glance over to see what the diva thought about the performance. Piggy looked at her and her lips curved into a smile beneath her delectable snout.
“It’s better,” she said. Sara thought she was kind not to say more. She started to say something to Piggy, but Scooter looked over at her at just that moment, eyes searching for her in his moment of need. Sara gave him a brilliant smile and moved a little to the music, letting her hips keep time. Scooter grinned and his own movements became more fluid.
“That’s it—dance with him,” Piggy murmured.
“What—on stage?” Sara asked frantically, talking out of the corner of her mouth. “I don’t—“
“No—not on stage,” Piggy soothed. “Right here. Just like you’re doing. He’s watching you. He’s dancing for you.”
The truth of what Piggy said was evident, and Sara heaved a big sigh of relief and let the beat take her, let the music pulse through her. She knew that others back stage were watching—she could feel their eyes on her as well as on Scooter, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter as long as Scooter was dancing with her, dancing to her, and letting his inner mojo out. She felt her cheeks flush warm, but she didn’t care. She put on her most determined face and, seeing it, Scooter’s grin grew even wider. If she could face down her own embarrassment at dancing in front of the others, then he could, too!
Inexplicably, Scooter stopped moving and held up his hand, stopping the band and the penguins with the gesture. All eyes turned to him, but he did not seem to mind being the center of everyone’s attention. He looked calm and collected and in charge, just like he did when he was backstage—when he was running backstage.
“Um, could we—could we take that from the top one more time? I think I’d like to try that entrance again.”
Kermit nodded. He had seen the big transformation in Scooter once Sara arrived on the sidelines to cheer him, and was happy to give his personal assistant a chance to redeem himself and the number. Piggy had drifted to her husband’s side, and she leaned now and whispered something near Kermit’s aural organ. He nodded and looked at her. Sara saw him mouth the words, “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” While Sara watched (but Scooter didn’t), Kermit motioned for the cameramuppets to start filming. Scooter never knew it, never saw the cameras or cared. He had turned and was looking at Sara, his expression laughing and expectant and full of playfulness. The music started.
“Come on,” his eyes communicated plainly. “Show me what you’ve got and I’ll show you what I’ve got!”
Sara laughed out loud and lifted her chin, rising to the challenge. She stepped closer to the edge of the stage and struck a pose that made a couple of fellows backstage mutter and comment, but she didn’t care about anything but the way Scooter’s eyes were glowing with mischief and self-assurance.
“Shake it, baby!” Sara mouthed, and Scooter obeyed, syncing his body to the music as he sang and danced. The choreography took on a life of its own, and the penguins and Pepe caught the infectious bravado emanating from their suddenly uninhibited former gofer. The band’s rhythm caught, infusing the entire cast—those watching and those performing—with a joyous abandon.
By the time the song was over—over and filmed—the entire set was laughing and clapping. Scooter stepped to the edge of the stage and grabbed Sara’s hand, drawing her onto the stage and holding her close while he danced her around the stage. People kept coming up and patting him on the back, or ruffling his hair, but he was grinning too much to care.
“You were, like, adorkable,” said Dr. Teeth.
“He was not!” Sara cried, stung a little—for him—but Scooter just smiled.
“So I’ve been told,” he said, then laughed and danced her across the stage.
“But…but—“ Sara began, but Scooter hushed her concern, giving her a quick smooch on the lips.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know who I am.” He smiled at her, at home in her arms and in the midst of his family. “Besides—it will be better with the costume.”
Sara’s eyes widened and she looked at Scooter in surprise. “But,” she began, “didn’t you, um….”
Scooter was looking at her, not sure what to read into her expression, but before he could ask, Kermit tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around to find his boss grinning at him.
“Nice work, Scooter,” Kermit said, and slapped him on the back.
“Um, thanks,” said Scooter. “Let me get changed and I’ll come back so we can film it….” He saw the truth in Kermit’s eyes, then turned to Sara for confirmation. “You—you filmed it like that?” He looked down in his faded jeans and Muppet Show jacket in dismay. “In this?” He made a couple of half-hearted attempts to be disappointed, but it just wouldn’t take. “Oh well,” he said at last. “As long as you got the film.”
Miss Piggy arrived where she belonged—at Kermit’s elbow—and leaned in to give Scooter a kiss on the cheek.
“Very nice,” she said. “Vous were very adorable.”
“I don’t know if adorable was what we were aiming for….” Scooter said, grimacing,
“Take what you can get,” Kermit advised, then grinned at him.
Scooter turned back and looked at Sara. “Well, I guess you won’t get to see me in leather pants and a ripped t-shirt anytime soon,” he said.
Sara waggled her eyebrows at him and smiled. “Who says?” she murmured near his ear, and Scooter did his best to stay on his feet.
Smells Like “Swagger,” Moves Like Jagger
There was frantic pounding on the soundstage door, and Piggy pushed the handle and practically jerked the pounder inside.
“Thank you for coming!” Piggy said warmly, but the other woman clutched her arm insistently.
“No—thanks for calling me! I—is he…is he okay?”
Piggy wobbled her hand in the age-old symbol for “so-so,” then tucked her gloved hand beneath her friend’s arm and hustled her toward the soundstage. “It’s been pretty touch-and-go,” she said. “But I’m sure he’ll be fine now that you’re here.”
“Oh—I hope so,” Sara said. “He was…he’s been really worried about this.”
“Scooter will be fine,” said Piggy. She stopped and turned to face her friend. “Let me see,” she demanded.
Sara made a face and blushed, but she unbelted and unbuttoned the trench coat and let it fall open. Piggy made a sound of approval, then took the lapels and pulled the coat further open, frowning thoughtfully as she survey Sara’s wardrobe choice.
“How’d I…do?” Sara asked, worriedly. She tried not to squirm under Miss Piggy’s expert scrutiny, and sighed with relief when Piggy pursed her lips and smiled.
“Oh—you did fine, Sweetie,” Piggy said. “He won’t be able to think about being nervous when he sees you.”
Sara sighed and nodded and started to button her coat closed again, but Piggy shook her blond curls. “Nope—no time like the present,” Piggy insisted.
“But—but, do I…do I really have to, um, walk around backstage like this?”
“Well, if you’re wearing that, Moi would suggest slinking around,” Piggy said briskly, “but yes, the whole point is to catch his attention, so I think walking around backstage is going to be a good start.”
“But…but…everyone will see me!” Sara wailed. “I mean…I mean, they’ll see all of me.”
“Not quite,” Piggy said with deadly sweet smile. “You’ve still got a little mystery going there.”
Sara took a deep breath and shed the coat, revealing the little black dress in all its glory. Piggy waved her hand, indicating Sara should spin, and she did, showing off the low back and the shapely swell of her calves.
“If this doesn’t cure what ails your hubby, Moi doesn’t know what will,” Piggy said, then tucked her hand under Sara’s elbow and took her to where Scooter was.
****
“Okay,” said Scooter, running his hands through his hair. “Okay. This is fine. Fine. It’s going to be fine.” Scooter looked anything but fine. He was pale and his hair was pushed all out of place because he’d been distractedly running his hands through it.
“Wack wack,” said Blinky soothingly, and Scooter nodded at the penguin and swallowed convulsively.
“Sure—sure, that’s a good idea. If I just pretend—Sara!” Relief warred with anxiety on Scooter’s blotchy face, but he started toward her, then slowed and gave her a long, assessing once-over. “Sara…wow. What are you…why are you here?” His expression showed he clearly didn’t mind—quite the contrary—but it was a testament to his nervousness that the sight of her didn’t immediately discombobulate him.
Sara was feeling pretty nervous herself, but she took a deep breath and tried to smile normally. “I’m here to offer moral support,” she said brightly.
“Not in that dress,” Pepe murmured, and Sara started visibly and turned to find the little crustacean eyeing her backside. She turned and planted her feet, planning to ream the little shrimp out, but Scooter took her arms and gently put her aside. He stepped up in front of her, one arm out to shield her, and glared at the King Prawn.
“Eyes somewhere else,” Scooter gritted, sounding furious. Pepe’s little eyes opened wide and he swallowed his smart-aleck answer and bobbed his head instead.
“Lo siento, Senora Grosse,” Pepe said meekly and backed away. Sara was almost too surprised to speak, but when Scooter turned around, eyes searching hers, her tongue loosened and she used it to thank him properly.
“My hero,” she said, pulling away from her husband’s embrace. Scooter looked a little dazed, but it was a pleased sort of dazed and he did not look as pale as he had before. His mouth twisted into a wry smile.
“So…you’re here to see me make a fool of myself on this song,” he said, reaching for her hand. He looked her up and down appreciatively. “At least if I die of embarrassment, I’ll die happy.”
Sara put her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. “I did not come here to see you make a fool of yourself,” she insisted. “I came here to see you be totally sexy and amazing and—and if you don’t show up that stupid King Prawn I swear I will march right out there on stage and—“
“Okay, okay!” Scooter said, laughing at her vehemence. “Down, girl. I’ll go out there and do my best.” He started to turn away, but Sara reached out and grabbed a handful of his jacket, dragging him close, but not for a kiss.
“Keep in mind,” Sara threatened, “that I know what your best looks like.” She gave him a hard look, letting it sink in. “Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Scooter said, grinning broadly. He turned back to the stage and saw Kermit had been watching the interchange with some amusement and no little pride. Scooter looked at him, grinning sheepishly and shrugged. “You want me to go ahead and change into my costume or are we going to do another run-through?”
“Let’s do another run-through,” Kermit said, wisely not mentioning how disastrous the last run-through had been. “Then, we’ll get you changed and roll some film. Okay?”
Scooter grinned. “Okay,” he said. Kermit still said “film,” and Scooter was amused sometimes at how well Kermit managed to make modern movies with an old-fashioned sensibility. Speaking of old-fashioned sensibilities, Scooter tried to make light of his own nervousness. This set…this song…had actually started out as sort of a joke. The guys had been engaged in some good-natured ribbing, suggesting songs or acts for each other with varying degrees of ribaldry, but when someone had suggested the iconic Maroon 5 song for Scooter, he had not liked it very much when everybody had laughed. Despite the fact that he was Kermit’s right-hand man, despite the fact that he ran the set and printed the checks and kept Kermit on task and everybody else out of jail (well, mostly), they still treated him like a kid.
When Sara had shown up for the first time, eyebrows had raised, and he had felt his own estimation rise in the eyes of his friends. Scooter-with-a-girlfriend was a little more grown up than Scooter without one, and when that girlfriend became a fiancée (and in front of everyone, too), then his wife, Scooter had felt that his claim on adulthood had been secured, even in front of those who remembered him—overeager and puppyish at 14. Still, when it came to parceling out parts and songs, he rarely ever got the romantic solos, the sexy jambs. He got cute. He got quirky. He got everything but the girl. Since he had a girl back home, this hardly mattered.
Except that it did. It mattered more than it should, but it mattered all the same.
“Fine,” Scooter had muttered. “I’ll do that one in our next show.”
They had stared at him. Someone had tittered, but at his flushed face and sparking eyes, it had silenced immediately. “Um, you don’t have to do that one—“ Clifford began, and Scooter had to clench his jaw to stop himself from saying something rude.
Clifford had probably been smooth when he was a first-grader, parlaying with the ladies with no real effort, and having him come to Scooter’s rescue, give him an excuse and an out, rankled even though he appreciated the gesture.
“No—it’s fine. I will.”
“This I’ve got to see,” muttered someone who sounded suspiciously like Rizzo, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the fridge drawer again.
“Well, you can see it in the next show,” Scooter said stubbornly. “I’m going to do Moves Like Jagger in the next muppet show.”
And here he was. He had managed to make peace with it (he had told himself), and he’d even been sort of excited about it when the wardrobe came in, but now, with everyone waiting and watching for it to be filmed…this was not good, was not fine.
Only, Sara was here now. Having Sara here made everything much, much better.
He walked back onto the stage and took his place. He stood there a little awkwardly, then rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension away and bounced on the balls of his feet. Sara bit her lip. He looked adorable. He did not—in any way, shape or form—resemble rock legend Mick Jagger, but he was wonderful and sweet and very, very appealing to her at that moment. He said something in an aside to Blinky, then looked toward Kermit, who nodded and—just before the band started their intro, he turned and looked over at her. She had hoped he would, and when he did, she did a full-body shimmy that made Scooter gasp and cough and sputter, but he recovered in time to come in with the music.
Although Sara hadn’t been there for the rather disastrous earlier renditions, she could guess what they had been like. Despite performing in countless productions, Scooter was not a natural show-off. Sara believed that Scooter’s determination to take the stage had really been fueled more by sheer, teeth-gritting willpower than a burning need to be in the spotlight. He had told her—they had all told her—how Scooter had been foist upon them by his uncle, how he had come in eager and mildly obnoxious (but what 14-year-old isn’t?), throwing his (borrowed) weight around in a desperate attempt to not be thrown out on his ear. Scooter had told her—they had all told her—how they had come to love him as their own. He was their own And if they were going to be on the stage, then—By golly!—he was going to be on the stage, too. All this Sara knew, and she stood on the sidelines and watched Scooter trying to hit his stride singing a song that was not at all his usual mien.
She felt more than heard Piggy float up beside her, and she cast a quick glance over to see what the diva thought about the performance. Piggy looked at her and her lips curved into a smile beneath her delectable snout.
“It’s better,” she said. Sara thought she was kind not to say more. She started to say something to Piggy, but Scooter looked over at her at just that moment, eyes searching for her in his moment of need. Sara gave him a brilliant smile and moved a little to the music, letting her hips keep time. Scooter grinned and his own movements became more fluid.
“That’s it—dance with him,” Piggy murmured.
“What—on stage?” Sara asked frantically, talking out of the corner of her mouth. “I don’t—“
“No—not on stage,” Piggy soothed. “Right here. Just like you’re doing. He’s watching you. He’s dancing for you.”
The truth of what Piggy said was evident, and Sara heaved a big sigh of relief and let the beat take her, let the music pulse through her. She knew that others back stage were watching—she could feel their eyes on her as well as on Scooter, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter as long as Scooter was dancing with her, dancing to her, and letting his inner mojo out. She felt her cheeks flush warm, but she didn’t care. She put on her most determined face and, seeing it, Scooter’s grin grew even wider. If she could face down her own embarrassment at dancing in front of the others, then he could, too!
Inexplicably, Scooter stopped moving and held up his hand, stopping the band and the penguins with the gesture. All eyes turned to him, but he did not seem to mind being the center of everyone’s attention. He looked calm and collected and in charge, just like he did when he was backstage—when he was running backstage.
“Um, could we—could we take that from the top one more time? I think I’d like to try that entrance again.”
Kermit nodded. He had seen the big transformation in Scooter once Sara arrived on the sidelines to cheer him, and was happy to give his personal assistant a chance to redeem himself and the number. Piggy had drifted to her husband’s side, and she leaned now and whispered something near Kermit’s aural organ. He nodded and looked at her. Sara saw him mouth the words, “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” While Sara watched (but Scooter didn’t), Kermit motioned for the cameramuppets to start filming. Scooter never knew it, never saw the cameras or cared. He had turned and was looking at Sara, his expression laughing and expectant and full of playfulness. The music started.
“Come on,” his eyes communicated plainly. “Show me what you’ve got and I’ll show you what I’ve got!”
Sara laughed out loud and lifted her chin, rising to the challenge. She stepped closer to the edge of the stage and struck a pose that made a couple of fellows backstage mutter and comment, but she didn’t care about anything but the way Scooter’s eyes were glowing with mischief and self-assurance.
“Shake it, baby!” Sara mouthed, and Scooter obeyed, syncing his body to the music as he sang and danced. The choreography took on a life of its own, and the penguins and Pepe caught the infectious bravado emanating from their suddenly uninhibited former gofer. The band’s rhythm caught, infusing the entire cast—those watching and those performing—with a joyous abandon.
By the time the song was over—over and filmed—the entire set was laughing and clapping. Scooter stepped to the edge of the stage and grabbed Sara’s hand, drawing her onto the stage and holding her close while he danced her around the stage. People kept coming up and patting him on the back, or ruffling his hair, but he was grinning too much to care.
“You were, like, adorkable,” said Dr. Teeth.
“He was not!” Sara cried, stung a little—for him—but Scooter just smiled.
“So I’ve been told,” he said, then laughed and danced her across the stage.
“But…but—“ Sara began, but Scooter hushed her concern, giving her a quick smooch on the lips.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know who I am.” He smiled at her, at home in her arms and in the midst of his family. “Besides—it will be better with the costume.”
Sara’s eyes widened and she looked at Scooter in surprise. “But,” she began, “didn’t you, um….”
Scooter was looking at her, not sure what to read into her expression, but before he could ask, Kermit tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around to find his boss grinning at him.
“Nice work, Scooter,” Kermit said, and slapped him on the back.
“Um, thanks,” said Scooter. “Let me get changed and I’ll come back so we can film it….” He saw the truth in Kermit’s eyes, then turned to Sara for confirmation. “You—you filmed it like that?” He looked down in his faded jeans and Muppet Show jacket in dismay. “In this?” He made a couple of half-hearted attempts to be disappointed, but it just wouldn’t take. “Oh well,” he said at last. “As long as you got the film.”
Miss Piggy arrived where she belonged—at Kermit’s elbow—and leaned in to give Scooter a kiss on the cheek.
“Very nice,” she said. “Vous were very adorable.”
“I don’t know if adorable was what we were aiming for….” Scooter said, grimacing,
“Take what you can get,” Kermit advised, then grinned at him.
Scooter turned back and looked at Sara. “Well, I guess you won’t get to see me in leather pants and a ripped t-shirt anytime soon,” he said.
Sara waggled her eyebrows at him and smiled. “Who says?” she murmured near his ear, and Scooter did his best to stay on his feet.
sadly). 
sure, if you want to do it the easy way; me, I'm going to Bombay, India to be a famous movie star—will always present the idyllic storybook marriage: a happy couple, white picket fenced house, and at least a couple of kids in the yard. It seems nice when you look at it, but it's become a rather sterile measuring stick. Do we all want to have happy homes when we marry, if we ever get married? Sure. Keep peace and clean home? Naturally. But is it something that will be as sanitized as it's presented in the movies? No, a lifetime of living has taught me that well enough. So no, I don't think that Kermit and Piggy would just shuck their acting lives for a quiet domestic prison. They'd probably go crazy, not the good kind either, from all the humdrum monotony of a non-active ordinary routine. Even if they're chasing after their kids, I'd like to think they're chasing them both at home on their off-days and at the theater/studio during filming days. Just my two cents.
's overturned hat while passing the band at the corner.