The Frog Prince Read Online Free PDF Page A

it.
    "This okay for you guys?" says the human narwhal, showing us to a small table in the corner next to a wall covered with painted roses.
    "It’s great, thanks," says Roman.
    I move to sit in the opposite chair, when I realize that Roman is still standing. I glance at the tabletop to see if something offensive has caused him to reconsider the table–free range bugs or tofu remains–but it appears spotless. Then I realize that he's pulled a chair back a few feet and is waiting for me to sit in it.
    To be fair to me, I’ve never had a chair pulled out for me so I’m not really sure what to do. Do I drop my ass onto the chair and then scoot it out of his hands and under the table? Sort of hover my butt over the seat and let him scoop me up like a front loader? Dump my trunk like dead-weight and force him to push the chair in like a bricklayer pushing a loaded wheelbarrow?
    Being the commoner that I am, I launch my body in the general direction of the offered chair, like a competition junky playing one-man musical chairs. Once I’m seated he simply walks to his own chair, settles in, and snaps the cloth napkin across his lap. "So," he says, picking up the menu, "are you a carnivore or an herbivore?"
    I'm still pretty rattled from the whole chair chivalry thing, and before I can stop myself a basically true (but completely illogical) response blows out of my mouth. "Well, technically I'm a carnivore because I do like meat occasionally, but meat isn’t very good for you so I've been eating a lot of beans and fish lately. Of course fish is meat…that's why it's the Chicken of the Sea, but ethically I'm opposed to corporate farms and keeping animals stuffed in pens. But at the same time, our human ancestors were always meat eaters, at least since Homo erectus . And I know I couldn't kill an animal myself if there were plants available to eat unless I had to kill an animal to feed my children if they were starving. Except I don't have kids."
    I heard once that you can’t cry and drink cold water at the same time. At this point the hostess has stepped up to the table with glasses of ice water, one of which I immediately snatch off the tray in her hand. Guzzling the cold water temporarily staves off any full-blown sobbing, and gives me the strength to see how Roman has taken this particular piece of verbal diarrhea. He's leaning far back in his chair, smiling broadly at me across the table.
    "Wow,” he says, as the hostess steps away, “now I know your opinion on dietary ethics and human biological anthropology…what the hell are we going to talk about for the rest of the meal?”
    My smile is tight, not because I’m angry at his response, but because if I don’t force my mouth into a position incompatible with speech I’m liable to say something even more cringe-inducing.
    He turns his attention back to the menu. "Anyway, I was just going to recommend the rack of lamb in the event you weren’t a vegetarian. Everything they serve here is organic, hormone-free, that sort of thing, and you don’t even have to kill anything yourself—as far as I know the animals arrive already dead. But if your conscience is steering you away from mammals, the rainbow trout is delicious. Personally, I wouldn't go for the bean burrito on a first date."
    I do not allow my brain to fixate on the word “date.”
    When you have the conversational abilities of a sea anemone, you spend most of your time trying to respond coherently to another person's question. I've been told in the past by friends that this makes it appear that I am self-centered, and not interested in the other person’s life. Which, when you're on a first date with the Crown Prince of Austria, is probably not the best way to a second date. Now that I've answered a few of Romans questions in a more or less comprehensible way, it's time to launch a counteroffensive.
    "How did you ever find this place?” I say
    "I dance here," says Roman.
    Oh god , I think to myself, this is