The Land of Fairy Tales

Tonight my parents and I went again to our newly-restored 50 seat, one-screen movie theater in town to see the third and final (?) installment in the Shrek series. It’s really the epitome of small town summer evening, and almost a fairy tale moment itself, to walk downtown, wander into the theater, enjoy whatever movie happens to be playing in an intimate atmosphere with people you mostly know, then wander back out into the still almost-daylight, past (or into) the colorful fudge/candy/ice cream shop brimming with customers, and off back home through the twilight. Just what movie is showing doesn’t seem to matter so much as just the act of going to a movie.

On our way home we chatted idly about the movie, whether it was as good as the second, in agreement than none could beat the first, and the capture and mixing of all the fairy tales and folk stories ever told. The whole “true love’s kiss…” and creatures and stories...

Then, suddenly I remembered something that happened a few days ago, but forgotten almost as soon as it happened:

I was in my room changing and getting ready to go out for an evening (which probably meant I was changing from one pair of jeans to another). I stopped to brush my hair (a rather pointless pursuit, but I made the feeble attempt), closing the door partway to be able to see into the mirror on the back of the door. The dog was lying on his bed on the floor next to my bed on the other side of the door.

Suddenly, a movement on the wood floor caught my eye. There, hopping into my bedroom, looking for all the world like he fully intended to be there, was a frog. A rather largish sized frog for this neck of the woods, though no bullfrog.

My dog took an immediate interest, but I waved him back to his bed. The frog sort of stopped and looked up at me (I swear, he did). I was a bit astonished - it’s no simple feat for a frog to navigate himself into my house and then all the way through it to my bedroom. Much less when I was actually in there. There is the whole large porch, kitchen, dining room, a bend into the hallway and then the choice of three rooms into mine.

Anyway, there I stood, with this frog patiently waiting at my feet. Waiting for...something.

So I bent down and scooped him up. Only thing to do was to take him back outside where he belonged. Except he was having none of it. Despite the ever-inquisitive chipmunk-chasing dog-beast at my heals, this frog was determined to get out of my hands and stay in my house.

I finally scrambled him to the porch and the deck and the yard.

And then I stopped. What if?

So yes, I kissed the frog.

But, I am still me, and there is no Prince Charming come to whisk me away (or, for that matter, whisk me to stay). And the mirror on my door is still keeping (wisely) mum about just who is the fairest of them all. It knows I know I don’t stand a chance, and that I don’t really need to know the truth, anyway.

So much for fairy tale endings.