Kermit and Miss Piggy’s Mexican vacation

Kermit had packed sunscreen, a guidebook, and one small suitcase.

Miss Piggy had packed twelve suitcases and a hat that required its own seat on the airplane.

“Piggy,” Kermit said, watching a luggage cart disappear beneath her belongings, “we’re only going to Mexico for a week.”

“Precisely, Kermie. Moi is traveling light.”

Their little hotel in Puerto Vallarta had a courtyard full of flowers and a balcony overlooking the sea. Kermit stepped outside and listened to the waves.

“No rehearsals,” he said. “No exploding scenery. No emergency calls from Fozzie. Just a quiet vacation.”

Behind him, Miss Piggy opened her suitcase.

A chicken popped out.

Kermit stared.

The chicken stared back.

“Gonzo packed that one,” Piggy explained.

They left the chicken with a bowl of water and went for a walk.

Along the waterfront, Kermit stopped to watch a pelican dive into the sea. Miss Piggy stopped to admire her reflection in a shop window.

“This place agrees with moi.”

“You’ve been here twenty minutes.”

“And already it has excellent taste.”

At a small market, they met a woman named Elena who sold hand-painted pottery. Piggy fell in love with a blue dish covered in tiny flowers.

“I shall use it for my jewelry.”

“You could use it for snacks,” Kermit suggested.

Piggy considered this.

“We’ll take two.”

Elena wrapped their purchases and told them about a neighborhood celebration that evening. There would be music, food, and dancing in the square.

“Dancing?” Piggy said.

Kermit recognized the expression on her face. It was the same expression she wore whenever someone mentioned a spotlight.

“We’re on vacation, Piggy.”

“Of course, dear. Moi shall perform recreationally.”

That evening, strings of colored paper fluttered above the square. Children chased each other between tables, and the smell of warm tortillas drifted past Kermit’s nose. A band was setting up near the fountain.

Miss Piggy had changed into a flowing white dress.

“Where did that come from?” Kermit asked.

“Suitcase seven.”

They were halfway through dinner when a small boy rushed past their table after a loose dog. The dog darted beneath the band’s platform, caught its leash around a stand, and pulled.

The microphone fell with a thump.

A speaker squealed.

Kermit dropped his fork.

“Ah,” he said. “There’s the vacation I know.”

Nobody was hurt, but while the musicians sorted out the tangled cables, the children grew restless. Elena spotted Kermit and waved him over.

“Can you keep them entertained for a minute?”

“Well, I don’t have my banjo—”

Miss Piggy was already walking toward the platform.

“Kermie. A professional adapts.”

Kermit borrowed a little guitar from one of the musicians. Piggy gathered the children into a circle and began demonstrating a dance step she had just learned from Elena.

“Watch carefully,” Piggy announced. “Moi has been practicing for nearly forty seconds.”

She turned elegantly.

Her enormous hat did not.

It sailed off her head, skimmed across the square, and landed on the dog.

The dog froze beneath its wide brim.

The children burst into laughter.

For a moment, Piggy stood perfectly still.

Kermit held his breath.

Then Piggy pointed at the dog.

“My understudy!”

The applause nearly drowned out Kermit’s guitar.

By the time the microphones worked again, everyone was dancing. Kermit missed several notes. Piggy stepped on his foot twice. Neither of them stopped.

Later, they walked back along the water carrying the rescued hat.

“That wasn’t exactly quiet,” Kermit said.

“No,” Piggy agreed.

“But it was pretty nice.”

Piggy slipped her hand into his.

“Yes, Kermie. It was.”

Back at the hotel, the chicken was asleep on Kermit’s pillow.

He looked at Piggy.

Piggy looked at him.

“I suppose,” Kermit sighed, “we could ask for another pillow.”

“Darling, don’t be ridiculous.”

She opened suitcase eight.

“I brought six.”