"Kermieeeee!"
Miss Piggy bounced into the backstage of Muppet Studios. Her blonde hair swung from right to left as she jogged up to the desk where Kermit the Frog stood, fervently typing up the script for the next day's performance, sighing with each line. He knew that no matter what he wrote, it wouldn't be good enough, especially not with the guest star they had planned to appear.
Kermit looked away from his typewriter and over to Piggy with a sigh. "Hello, Piggy. What seems to be the issue?"
"Well," she began, "considering that tomorrow we will have a very special guest... performer, I was hoping you could write in a part for moi. Preferably, one where I can sing. You must not downplay my infinite stardom for someone just because they have the mere title of guest star!"
Kermit sucked in his lips, trying not to lash out. He had been writing the script all day, and here comes Piggy in her francophone femininity, begging for him to change all his plans just so she could be center stage. Per usual. The stage is not meant to be shared in her eyes, and any number where she is not the star is one number too many.
Kermit mustered a thin smile. "Sure, Piggy. I'll write you in a musical number."
Miss Piggy began bouncing around again. "Oh! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Kissy, kissy!" she exclaimed, blowing air kisses to Kermit as she frolicked away.
Kermit put his head in his webbed hands. Ripping the almost finished script from his typewriter, he loaded up a blank sheet of paper and began typing.
"PIGGY - SINGING NUMBER - SONG? - SPECIAL GUEST"
He stared blankly at the keys, worn from so many years of writing. As appointed leader of Muppet Studios (appointed by the cast or himself, he never knew), he had always pushed himself to achieve perfection. Everything had to be just right: the lights, the scripts, the cues, the music, everything. All Kermit wanted to do was make millions of people laugh. How hard could that be, right?
As it turns out, very. Kermit glanced up, away from his work and into the small, smudged, cracked mirror, hanging skewed on the wall ahead of him. The stress had begun to get to him. He touched his dark green circles under his eyes and gently pressed into the eye bags that puffed out the way his chest used to when he had confidence. The felt on his head seemed patchy. He hadn't even noticed that one of the points on his ages-old collar had fallen completely off. All those late nights of writing, planning, and directing fueled only be adrenaline and fly-flavored lattes had clearly caught up to him. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he had even washed his face. Just the idea made his skin crawl. He left his desk and headed for the restrooms.
Coming upon the bathroom, Kermit was faced with 3 doors: Men, Women, and Whatever. The Whatever bathroom was really only for Gonzo. Nobody else used it except him. When Gonzo came out, Kermit did everything he could to make the studio as inclusive and nonbinary-friendly as possible. It's not like Gonzo even needed to come out, anyway. His coming-out wasn't a big deal for him or anyone else because everyone always knew. They just accepted him the way he was.
Kermit stared at the Whatever bathroom for a few seconds. What would that be like? To not be a boy, he meant. To not be a girl, either. To simply be... everything and nothing, all at the same time. To have the ability to express yourself however you wanted. To not be stuck in a binary trap orchestrated by whoever decided what a man was and what a woman was. To be free.
Kermit's thoughts were rudely interrupted by Gonzo themself bursting out of the bathroom.
"Well, hi, Kermit! How's it going?" Gonzo asked. "Gee, I had this idea on the toilet that for tomorrow's special guest star, I could launch myself out of a cannon and into their arms! The arms of the fabulous, fantastic, wickedly funny-"
Gonzo was cut off by Kermit. "Um, that's a great idea, Gonzo. I'll seriously consider it," he lied. He turned to enter the men's restroom. He jiggled the handle, but it wouldn't open. He tried again, yet it wouldn't turn.
"SOMEONE IN HERE!" shouted a deep, angry voice. "ANIMAL DO NUMBER 2!"
"Ah. That's wonderful, isn't it?" Kermit asked. "I'll just wait, then."
"IT BE LONG TIME. ANIMAL EAT DRUM. DRUM NOT DIGEST WELL."
Kermit sighed and itched his face. He could feel stubble scratch against his fingers. Which is weird, because amphibians don't grow body hair.
"Why don't you just use my bathroom, Kermit? I don't care. Maybe you can be Whatever, too!" Gonzo joked.
Kermit felt unexplainably uncomfortable. He could feel his face morph into some disgusted expression. "No, Gonzo. I am a man. And I'll always be a man. No bathroom is going to change that." Kermit stormed off, leaving Gonzo confused and hurt. Kermit felt horrible about that interaction. He didn't know how to react to the concept that he could be Whatever.
Doesn't matter, he thought, shaking it off. I just need to find a sink.
He headed up the stairs to where the dressing rooms were. He figured nobody would mind if he just slipped inside really quickly to wash his face. Without thinking, he quietly entered the dressing room with the glowing neon hot pink star on the door that read "MADEMOISELLE PIGGY."
The overhead lights in the room were off. The only way Kermit could see was from the light shining from Miss Piggy's vanity mirror on the farthest wall from the door. The lights from the pale pink bulbs reflected off of the disco ball attached to the ceiling, which cast small, blush colored dots all across the room. The room smelled of her perfume, Eau de Feather Boa, with notes of floral, fruit, and warm blonde woods. Kermit closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. It smelled nothing of his cologne, some musky scent that was given to him one year for Christmas that he never cared much for, but was told was "all the rage for frisky frogs in charge that season."
In the corner of the room was her sink. Kermit walked over to it and turned on the water. While he waited for it to warm up, he took in the room. While he had been in there countless times before, he had never really noticed how beautifully feminine and delicate everything was. The lilac hand towels, embroidered with a cursive "M.P." in gold lettering, smelled faintly of her lavender scented foaming hand soap. Her jewels and pearls hung from a necklace stand on her vanity. The light glittered off of her sapphires the way the sun shone into her blue eyes when they used to go on afternoon walks in the parks of Manhattan. That was back when they were romantic, of course. But, of course, all of that was over now.
Kermit felt the running tap, and he felt his digits warm at the touch of the water. He pumped a few dollops of Piggy's cleansing face wash into his hands and scrubbed. Once he felt spotless, he rinsed, relishing in the feeling of clean, permeable, moist, amphibious skin. He turned off the sink, and he began to leave. Just as he was about to head out, he noticed something in the corner of his eye.
In the far corner of the room, there stood a female dress form with the most gorgeous gown Kermit had ever seen draped across it. Pinned in places to perfectly fit Piggy's porky body, the emerald green dress sparkled in the dim light of the mirror. The corset, made into the dress to further show off Piggy's busty nature, detailed rainbow vertical stripes, alternating colors in a way that made it look almost as if you were looking at light spread through a prism. The silver pendant in the middle seemed to call Kermit's name. He stood, dumbfounded, at the dress.
"Kermit... Kermit... Kermit..." the dress called.
"KERMIT!" screamed Piggy from behind. The overhead lights flicked on, snapping Kermit out of his daze. He whipped around, facing the furious swine.
"What could you POSSIBLY be doing in my dressing room? What does moi have that you could even begin to want?" she questioned, a cool tone in her voice.
Kermit blushed and put his head down, quickly shuffling out of the room and profusely muttering apologies. The dress still ran through his mind as he hurried down the steps to his typewriter. He had to the finish the script. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that tomorrow's guest star would bring a bigger sense of security than just a good show, however. If only he could come up with a decent skit to put her in. He shook his head and began to type.
