THE DIVORCEE AND THE FROG

The old frog croaked. 

     Mirabel screamed, lost her balance, and knocked over a series of perfumes on the cabinet. 

     The old frog stood on top of the plug hole where it had presumably emerged. 

     "Ribbit," said the frog in an unreadable tone.  

     Mirabel placed her hand on her hip. It was now starting to make sense to her. She was not shocked to see a frog in her bath. She regarded the frog coolly. 

     "Harold," Mirabel said, sternly, "is that you?" 

     "Ribbit," the old frog replied. 

     Mirabel sighed. She'd forgotten how tiresome it was to converse with frogs. She sat on the edge of the bath. The old frog flinched and moved backwards; he wasn't expecting her to be so calm with being close to him.    

     She bent over the side, "Ah yes, crooked sore legs, a greyness, but the same eyes." 

     Harold bowed his head, embarrassed. 

     "Have you been trying this whole time to find me?"

     "Ribbit."

     "This whole time?"

     "Ribbit."

     "Years? Actual years? You’ve been trying to find me for actual years?" 

     "Ribbit."

     "Really, Harold, what a waste of your time."

     That sparked something in Harold. He charged forward. "Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit!"

     Mirabel burst out laughing. She was glad that she had married a prince who could turn into a frog and not a pure human. None of Mirabel’s friends had the amusing privilege of seeing their ex-husbands charge at them in frog-form. It was simultaneously pitiful and endearing.  

     "Oh, so you're not just an old frog. You're an angry old frog too."

     Harold glared. 

     "Well then, since you’ve been trying to find me for years, I suppose you want to say your piece? Is that why you’ve come here?"

     "Ribbit."

     "Well, what’s your piece Harold? Do share."

     "Ribbit…" Then Harold looked taken aback, as if he was expecting to speak eloquent English. 

     Mirabel leaned into the bath, holding her hands out in a cup shape, "I suppose we ought to get you out and give you a pen."

     Reluctantly, Harold climbed into Mirabel’s hands. He was wet; a slimy thing to touch.

 

​

​

Harold struggled with the pen. It was not just that pens were not designed for the limbs of a frog. He had not used a pen; or written a word in any other form; for years. He’d been living his full frog life, and his royal existence as the eighth child of King Richard was long forgotten. 

     Before coming here, Harold had promised himself not to instigate an argument - something he’d found near - impossible in his marriage to Mirabel. Despite his promise, Harold was still Harold. He could not help himself. He wrote out, fuck you. 

     "Well, that is fair, I suppose I did make you into a frog." Mirabel mused. 

     I don’t want to be a frog anymore. 

     "It does seem rather limiting to be a man in the body of a frog." 

     This is your fault! You must help me!

     Mirabel walked away. 

​

∘˚˳°∘˚˳°

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Once, Mirabel had been the eleventh child of a minor lord. Although the eleventh, and therefore, seemingly, not that very significant or due to inherit a thing, Mirabel was the most beautiful of her siblings. She had been engaged to a prince, who believed that beauty was more powerful than rank—though, of course, it helped that her father was a lord, even if he was a minor one. But Mirabel’s older sister, Annabella, had slept with Mirabel’s fiancé. It was a massive scandal. They even had a secret child together. 

     After news of the hush-hush affair and the even more hush-hush babe had broken out, a very miserable Mirabel had rushed outside to a quiet spot where she’d watched the frogs as a child. And there, a frog listened to her. He listened more than he ribbited. For that, she was glad. Her sister Annabella and her ex-fiancé had always been as blabber-mouthed as each other (they’d even outed their own secret affair.)

     The frog communicated to her that he was a prince, and that true love’s kiss would transform him into his human form once again. Then, they would marry, and Mirabel would be his princess.

     Mirabel had been looking forward to being a princess—that’s why she’d said yes to the blabber-mouthed prince in the first place.  

     She was fond of the frog’s company.  

     Mirabel checked that no one was around—she didn’t want anyone to see and think that she was fucking weird for kissing a frog, especially with the deluded belief that it would turn him into a prince—and then she kissed him. Nothing happened that time. 

     But Mirabel was intrigued by the prospect that he might turn into a prince. Plus, she kind of liked the slimy, wet feel of his lips. 

     After many kisses (the kiss of love is generally not the first), the frog turned into a prince. 

     They married. Mirabel became a princess. 

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∘˚˳°∘˚˳°

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It makes sense that fairy-tales end with the sealing of marriage and nothing more. For what followed was drug abuse, alcoholism, womanising, rage, sadness, and downright nastiness as Harold adjusted to his life from frog to human prince. He had a lot of resentment toward his parents, as one would, who had thought up this bizarre plan of turning him into a frog, as a failsafe means for him to find the perfect wife. 

     Furthermore, Harold missed the simplicity of being a frog. Politics bored him. It felt like a lost cause. His future kingdom was a looming burden that he did not care for. 

     Of course, Harold couldn’t tell anyone that he preferred being a frog to being a human prince. So he took it out on the woman who had made him this way: his wife. 

     Eventually, naturally, Mirabel’s love for her prince wore away. She was tired of being the brunt of all his pent-up emotions. Being a princess was not worth being married to a detestable, angry man-frog. 

     Towards the end of their relationship, she refused to kiss him. 

     This maddened him even more. 

     When Mirabel served him the divorce papers, he refused to sign them. Mirabel battled and battled and battled for a divorce. As a prince, Harold had the backing of the court to resist the divorce. 

     So, finally, having exhausted all other options, one day, Mirabel went to see Harold. And there, she kissed him. 

     And the kiss of disdain turned him right back into a frog. 

     He’d been a frog, as far as she knew, ever since. 

​

∘˚˳°∘˚˳°

​

After her visit down memory lane, Mirabel walked back to Harold and his pen and paper. 

     Please. I am royalty. I cannot be condemned to the life of a frog for eternity. 

     "How am I supposed to help you, Harold? I can’t give you a kiss of love."

     You can’t? The frog peered up at her, hurt. 

     "How do you think you became a frog again in the first place? The kiss of disdain."

     Harold bowed his head. He looked like the saddest frog in the world. 

     "Oh, Harold!" Mirabel cried. She hated the idea of him having any tug on any of her heart strings. "Look, all I could possibly give you is the kiss of pity, because you look like such a miserable old frog!" 

     Harold positively beamed. "Ribbit!"

     "Ugh." Mirabel looked around her, as she had as a young woman, checking that no one saw her do something as fucking weird as kiss a frog—though they were alone in her home. Then, she bent down and kissed him. Kissed the old frog. Kissed Harold. 

     She waited. But Harold did not change. 

     Only a horrible smile formed across his face. 

     "You still do disgust me, Harold!" Mirabel cried. She pressed her hands to her eyes and spun away from him. "Ugh, ugh, ugh."

     "Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit…" His voice faded.

     When Mirabel turned back around, Harold was gone. 

     She recollected the horrible smile on his face. 

     Harold hadn’t thought that Mirabel’s kiss would turn him into a human again. 

     Harold was happy being a frog. 

     Harold had got what he wanted.