Rupert's Mistake

Rupert's Mistake

*

         Rupert J. Bullfrog fidgeted with the radio and picked nervously at the webbing between his fingers.  His little frog crown rocked and bounced in the passenger seat of the pickup-truck as he drove down I-75, across the northern Georgia outlands.

         Maybe I should just go back to the lily pad, thought Rupert, Maybe I’m making a big mistake.

         Doubt had been running through his mind since he had left for the meet up, but that was two hours ago.  It seemed he had passed the point of no return, and, turning off the highway into a small cluster of rural homes, he pressed through his apprehensions like a child closing his eyes and yanking on the corner of a Band-Aid.

         Remember what she said Rupert.  She’s lonely too.  And who knows, maybe you really can become her prince.  You deserve this.

         Thinking back to the long distance relationship he had cultivated, Rupert realized what a wonderful thing the internet was.  Only in this free, interconnected, modern age could an ugly frog like Rupert meet with a beautiful young lady like princessbaby2010.

         Here it is, 1033 Palace Dr.  Don’t chicken out man.  You can do this.

         Rupert pulled to the side of the street in front of the two-story country home.  The front yard was dark.  There were no cars in the driveway, and the house looked empty except for a light in one of the first-floor windows.  He flipped down the sun-visor, confronted himself in the vanity mirror and said aloud, “Who’s the frog?  You the frog Rupert!  You’re the baddest, sexiest bullfrog in the pond.  She’s going to love you.  Croak yeah!  Let’s do this!”  He slapped himself in the face and flexed his froggy muscles, took a few deep breaths, then donned the crown.  Back in the mirror, he gave himself some last words of encouragement, “It’s all you bro.  You’re her prince baby.  Princesses love princes.  It’s croakin’ go time.”  At that, Rupert stepped bravely out of the truck, slamming the door behind and giving his hippity-hop a jocular strut as he approached the house.

         He made it about halfway to the front door before anxiety crept back to the forefront of his mind.  Suddenly, nerves shocked his heart and skin.  He felt like a tadpole in high school speech class, terrified.

         Maybe she’s not even there.  God Rupert what are you doing!?  I can still go back to the lily pad.  I can call this thing off.  No harm, no foul right?  Yeah, that’s it.  I’m just going to go home.  I can be back in time to catch the World Series of Poker on ESPN.

         Just as Rupert was about to turn and make for his truck, the front door of the house opened, and a beautiful young princess emerged.

         “Rupert?” she asked.

         “Yeah…”

         “Hey.  I’m glad you came.  Come on in and make yourself at home.  I’m going to go check some laundry.  Be back in a sec, kay,” she sang the words to him, a siren call, her beauty irresistible.

         “Umm, okay,” Rupert’s voice shook a bit, and he hoped she hadn’t noticed.

         “There’s some lemonade in the kitchen,” said the princess, as she vanished back into the house.

         Rupert pressed on, completely intoxicated by a cocktail of excitement, fear and lust.  Nervously, he entered the home.  Crossing the threshold was like casting off a robe in front of a leering crowd.

         What am I doing?  His conscience whispered.  Is this real?

         Rupert made his way down a hall between a foyer and a large open doorway, into the kitchen.  A pitcher of lemonade and two glasses sat on an island counter that was surrounded by barstools.  He hopped up onto one of the stools, poured a glass and nervously sipped.  Time seemed at a stand still, just Rupert in the kitchen, sipping and fidgeting and looking about.

         Suddenly a professional looking man walked in the room holding a clipboard.

         Her father?  The king!  I’m done for!

         Rupert’s heart almost stopped.

         The man looked Rupert squarely in his eyes and said, “I’m Chris Hanson, Dateline NBC.  We’re doing a show called To Catch a Predator; ever heard of it?”

         Rupert’s heart sank.  He buried his face in his hands and replied with a long sigh, “Yes… Please sir; this isn’t what you think…”

Word Count: 724