Frogs

“Over my years I’ve learned that there are more frogs than princes, and women grow weary of kissing frogs, yet they settle for frogs and wonder why their life is not fulfilling.”

Her coffee had grown cold, yet she sipped from the cup as if still enjoying it. Truth be told, this outlook was a bit unnerving. The intent was not to insult, but nonetheless it struck an awkward chord. Was he being critical of women? Of men? Of love? Of frogs?

“Maybe we’ve become so jaded with regard to courtship that genuine admiration appears too much like the dialogue of a desperate man to satisfy his desire for one night, so we stay with the best looking frog we kiss because it is what we know. Maybe he’ll stay.”

“Where does that leave the princes?”

“Also alone,” she admitted through a muted sigh.

A barista edged closer to their booth, eavesdropping while wiping down an already spotless counter, glancing through the side of his eye as if this might help him better understand women.

Frankly, he learned more about frogs, because women are mysterious and should be left to their ways.

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