The Frog Connoisseur

There were frogs that were kissed, many of them.  Slippery, untrustworthy, slimy, frogs. Frogs with girlfriends, frogs with bad intentions, frogs who said ‘chill out, we’re just frogs being frogs’.

The charming frogs, left you with wounds which required time to heal.
Unrequited love.
Drunk dials.
I love you, but…

You sat with girlfriends and told frog stories. Someone declared no more frogs. Down with frogs. I can’t do any more frogs. I am better off frogless.

And there were times, you were a toad. I’ll show those frogs. Thorny, unreliable and venomous. You were ashamed of the obnoxious amphibian you had become. And finally, you heard yourself say “I don’t need this. It’s okay. I like it just how it is. Just. Me”.
Would you like to meet?
Just me.
I know this great guy.
Nope, just me.
I think you two would really hit it off.
Just. me.
No more bullshit, no more should I? Did he? Maybe I? What if?
And when the frog prince was offered, like a present, you should meet…
No thanks. Just me.
Do you mind if I ask?
Sure, but it’s just me.
I think you two would…
Nope, just me.
And then one evening, smack, in the middle of dinner, the frog prince sat across from you and told a story. You switched plates, stared at each other just that little bit too long. 
He talked of far off ponds and new lily pads, and you knew that wherever you went, you’d be okay with this frog. For he was the right frog for you.

This frog allowed you to be, who you wanted to be. It had nothing to do with fairytales, for he was real.

It had to be.
Just me, and you.

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