She was a techno-babe; her mother joked she smelled of smoking computer-chips.
“How’s Emily, Mrs Jones, does she have a boyfriend yet?”
“No, but she’s got this great new job with NASA, programming their something-or-other space-mission rocket. She’s moving to the USA.”
“Wow! Clever girl! Oh, hi Emily.”
“Hi, Mrs Frost. Hi Mum.”
“Argh! A frog in your pocket!”
“Good morning ladies…”
“God, it speaks!”
“I’m in reality a high-born prince and if your daughter would only kiss me…”
“Emily, aren’t you…?”
“Naw. A talking frog’s cool, a prince, so what? Wait ’til the guys at work see him!”
“How’s Emily, Mrs Jones, does she have a boyfriend yet?”
“No, but she’s got this great new job with NASA, programming their something-or-other space-mission rocket. She’s moving to the USA.”
“Wow! Clever girl! Oh, hi Emily.”
“Hi, Mrs Frost. Hi Mum.”
“Argh! A frog in your pocket!”
“Good morning ladies…”
“God, it speaks!”
“I’m in reality a high-born prince and if your daughter would only kiss me…”
“Emily, aren’t you…?”
“Naw. A talking frog’s cool, a prince, so what? Wait ’til the guys at work see him!”
