Toad Tales

Paula regarded the toad on her boot with some displeasure.

"Excuse me," it said politely,

"But I would be much obliged if you could set me off on that rock over there. I am not much accustomed to hopping and leaping, and what with this infernal weather the lawn is a soggy mess."

Paula felt vaguely that lawn-keeping was not in her responsibility. She told the toad as much as she gathered him up in both hands and placed him securely on the rock at the end of the garden.

"Mr. Toad," she ventured, "I'm not quite sure if I've figured you out. I've never met a talking toad before."

The toad's already inexistent shoulders seemed to slump.

"Yes, yes, I know," he sighed, regarding a lump of lichen with a moody pathos,

"It is always the talking frogs that get all the attention. Well, I don't know to what purpose I have become warty and malodorous. I can not help but feel it has been a rather malicious attack on my person, but one would not wish to point fingers."

At this he regarded his webbed digits with some desolation. It rather seemed to Paula as though he were becoming slimier by the moment.

"I was told that it would be a very simple transaction, very simple. I would be transformed into a frog, a frog I say, would find a princess, kiss her, and my claim to the throne would be incontestable. Once again, and one would not wish to point fingers, but I must say I feel I have been quite grievously deceived."

With each utterance of pompous dismay, Paula felt more obliged to help him. She was not entirely sure what his problem was, but she had no school or speech therapy today, so she resolved to do her best.

"Mr. Toad," she began in an attempt at vigour,

"we will find your princess and we will turn you back into who you were before you became a toad."

"Oh, my dear, do call me by name. I am Prince Adipose the Third, son of King Adipose the Second, also the lately deceased. I am afraid he held onto that musty throne for rather longer than he should have, but one would not wish to babble at the grapevine."

The toad looked at her rather expectantly, but when she did not react much, save to scratch her nose apologetically, he continued. "Yes, this princess problem. Well my dear, I do know a perfectly sweet candidate, entirely enamoured with me of course. I must say indeed that I expected and indeed intended to be coronated rather before I hit my thirties. You must understand, there has been rather a succession of princesses. Well, I waited in vain. Have you ever been a middle-aged prince? I cannot say it was altogether pleasurable, but there you are. Fourty-five before my father kicked the bucket. Kicked the bucket in a rather literal sense, as I do believe he was buttoning his briefs after a lengthy soujourn in the lavatory."

With one of his slimy forelegs he wiped around his mouth, as though this amount of verbosity were wearing him down. "You do know what I am on about, don't you, child?" He asked rather suspiciously, but before Paula had time to answer, continued once again in a similar vein.

Paula, though quite confused by the toad, was not altogether astounded at the situation. After all, there had been those songbirds that wouldn't leave off from her, and the little people in the toadstools down by the stream. They had all seemed rather contented with their lot, but still...

While she mused about the general nature of the dour figure, wondered how she could help him and indeed whether she could at all, a crunching sound from the driveway told her that her mother was home from work.

Breaking the toad off mid-sentence, him seeming much more surprised than appalled, she told him that she had to go now and would return tomorrow at the same time, if he could be there. After hasty good-byes the toad seemed to steel himself before leaping into the undebrush, and Paula lifted her heavy boots to trudge up the lawn to the house.

"Wet and covered in muck again, Paula?"

Paula stuffed her boots into the corner of the hall closest to the door and squelched her way into the kitchen.

"God you're a mess! Take off those socks, they're filthy. Milk?"

The socks sucked to her feet when she pulled them off. Sitting down at the table, she slurped thoughtfully at the milk.

"Mommy, there was a toad in the garden."

Her mother had busied herself at the bench, cutting bread.

"A toad? On the lawn?"

"I put him on the rock at the bottom."

"So that's why you were down there."

Paula considered. "He told me he was called Prince Animose."

"You've been reading your brother's books, haven't you?"

She had, but that wasn't the issue. "He needs my help! He never wanted to be a toad, but a frog."

"No? You wanna watch a film tonight? There's probably a fairy tale on RTÉ."

She threw the slices in the toaster.

"He said he was ..thingied."

"Thingied?" She opened the fridge, piling butter, cheese, chutney and HB sauce onto the table.

"Is Snow White on?"

"We'll see what's on. Marmite toast or guacamole?"

"Marmite toast with guacamole! D'you think a witch thingied him?"

Her mother had gotten a board out of the cupboard and was chopping the tomatoes. When she was finished, she reached behind her and got out an avocado and a knife.

"Maybe, darling. Here, open this up and scoop it out. Chilli or no?"