![]() Well, first, I dropped my binoculars and went literal ham bananas on a fire escape, but after that, I calmly decided he didn’t get to have his mosquito cake and eat it too. Right then and there, I decided I was done being his Cool Pig. I mean, they have rats working in the kitchen! You just know she’s dating the health inspector to keep a place like that going. That mealy-mouthed twit who probably doesn’t even have a single celebrity friend. Sure, he was all tearful goodbyes and awful banjo music at the station, but the second I returned to the city, I saw him canoodling with that floozy waitress from the diner where he works. And when all of this failed, and his friends abandoned him, he put me on a train headed for New Jersey. Being a Cool Pig, I had no choice but to follow him to Manhattan even if it meant sleeping in storage containers at the airport because somehow, between him and his twenty friends (one of whom was even supposedly a doctor), none of them could scrape up enough money for a single hotel room. Instead, what did he do? He made the unilateral decision to take his half-baked side hustle of a musical-if you can call it that considering it’s one song and zero plot-and take it to the Broadway stage. This is the year he proposes and we settle down somewhere and start making babies that defy the laws of man and nature.” I did it all, and I did it looking fabulous. ![]() I was by his side through every caper, every family Christmas. Together we were the ultimate power couple. With my sophistication and years of martial arts training, including krav maga, I helped him transform from a humble musician to a movie star, an investigative reporter, a sea captain, a spy, and even a character in a Dickens novel (that one required some manipulation of the time-space continuum, but for him, I was willing to side kick Einstein’s theory of relativity to tiny pieces). I don’t say a word about his “nephew” Robin ignoring the fact that Kermit obviously fathered that twerpy little tadpole. Hell, I moved to the swamp for him, and now my dry cleaner has stopped even trying to get the mud stains out of my vintage Chanel suits. ![]() Pretend to like his friends even though they are a motley crew of losers, some of whom possess delusions of grandeur. Freshly caught mosquitoes marinated in his mucus for every meal? I gobbled them down and still maintained my curvaceous chops. Stopping for a song break even though someone was always trying to kill/eat us? Cool Pig supports her Frog’s rock star delusions. For him, I was happy to be that version of Cool Pig. ![]() Mainly because he carried the banjo everywhere he went and would stop to play it at seemingly random points throughout our journey together. I knew what Kermit was into the moment I met him: banjo music. Cool Pig supports her man, no matter the species. For her Dog, the Cool Pig will listen to him murder one Billy Joel cover after another, even though his piano hasn’t been tuned since Billy Joel was on wife number two. If she’s into bears, Cool Pig will suffer night after night at the comedy club, laughing her head off at jokes that are objectively unfunny. It doesn’t even matter if her mate isn’t a Frog. ![]() If her Frog has a dissection kink, she brings a scalpel to the playroom. If her Frog is into hip-hop, she pops and locks with the best of them. The essence of the Cool Pig is that she likes what her Frog likes. She simply smiles and karate chops the bejeezus out of the evil fast-food chain owner chasing him down for his delectable frog legs. Cool Pig never gets embarrassed by the way her Frog dances, flailing his arms in the air as if he’s experiencing a grand mal seizure. A feat managed by sheer willpower overriding her mammalian biology and also regular ice baths. ![]()
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