Who wants that. Give me the frog. Someone I can tidy up after, annoy with my endless musings about what happened on any given day, and love messily. Erratically. Though committedly. Don't sell me short Gray & Farrar. I can love a frog.
A boy at a lake once took my David Cassidy poster (conveniently, I always had one on hand), pinned it to a dart board. took a dart, pinned a fish to it, and then used it as target practice, splattering guts and gill all over the feathered hair, and dreamy smile.
That's my frog. I take it down, tidy it up a bit, and it still makes me to swoon. Rib-it.