The frog prince waited for his princess. He waited and waited, longing to be a man again. The taste of flies repulsed him, but he ate them, every day believing this gooey, disgusting fly would be his last, for surely his princess was on her way.
He built a little froggy home while he waited. It helped pass the time. And anyway, it was better than sitting out there in the mud all the time.
He shook his little froggy head, but there was no use denying it. He enjoyed the mud. He enjoyed the squish of it, the way it sucked his little froggy feet down and released them with a slurp! And even the flies didn’t seem so bad. Once you got past the texture, they were as delectable as the roasted pigeons and seared ducks he’d eaten as a prince. Now that he thought about it, he’d never gotten to enjoy the sun like this when he’d been a prince. Or the water when it got warm and lapped at his froggy toes. Or the mud when it cradled him like a lover’s arms.
The frog prince stopped waiting. He had all he needed.