Prince (un)Charming

Disclaimer: It's true. Ask R.

***

It's sunset; there is nothing more satisfying on such harmless evenings than sitting on the bench outside the hostel - chin in hand, feet propped up, head dipped into that flavoured book of the moment. And that is just what I'm doing.

I can hear a persistent sort of rustling in the grass nearby, and I wonder if it's the ghost of that poor murdered snake than R was talking about the other day. But it's only a frog, come out for the cool, rain-threatened day. Faint spots of dark green on scattered on his icky back: a Greek god (of the Frog kind) couldn't have been handsomer.

So I'm charmed. He's hopping, and a couple of insects (mosquitoes, I think, and am reminded irresistibly of the Harappan civilization) are suddenly nowhere to be seen. Hop, and he's closer to the bench.

His expression is familiar. I'm reminded of that boy who, only last week, sent a friend a pained look that said, "Head over heels, I am. How can you not know?!" and walked away with no further injunctions. Hm. The ways of the human mind, I say. Complicated.

But I doubt Froggers' look is meant for me. Differences in species and all, y'know; I've read somewhere (Scientific American) that members of one species find it extremely difficult to find members of another attractive; quite the mystery, don't you think? Froggers has hopped over to some two feet away, and is still sending lustful looks my way. Hm.

But really, holding yourself up on rickety legs like a clown on stilts is really the last straw! Just... creepy. *shiver* I mean, what frog walks on his feet while simultaneously casting lecherous looks at female members of a different species? What frog, I implore you; tell me if you know!

I've started to inch towards the other end of the bench, but Froggers is indefatigable. One foot at a time (wobble wobble), one look at a time, and advancing all the time. Three inches away, and he stops, and stares for one whole minute. Now terrified of frog-poison and of witches in disguise, I'm thankful to notice his expression change from lust to a profoundly baleful glare. One more minute of fierce glaring, and then he turns.

Sigh.

Linear distance between Froggers and me increases interminably (relief relief), but I am still watching. The sun's moved down over the trees, and a speck of that orange light hits Hopper. And there's a flash of gold. Second, third and fourth looks, and there're still flashes of gold.

Hm. I wonder. Did I just pass on by the Frog Prince?