Back before the days of VCR, way before you could pause and rewind live television, back in the days of looking in the TV Guide to see the television programming for the week ahead, I had two favourite shows: Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness, and The Muppet Show. I would watch the clock and then settle in front of the television five minutes prior to the start of the show, just so I wouldn’t miss a thing. I haven’t seen either of those shows for many years, but I have a feeling they would still hold up today. I mean, how can you go wrong with a nature show? Not to mention that just watching the opening theme song for The Muppet Show puts me in a happy place.
The Muppet Show was a delight to me for many reasons, and my teenage love of the theatre and acting in plays probably started with my fascination about the backstage excitement on The Muppet Show. I loved watching the Muppets interact with the guest stars, I loved watching the backstage panic and the “show must go on” activity, I loved the various skits and sketches, but most of all, I loved Miss Piggy.
Maybe it’s the diva in me, but I could identify with her the way I could never identify with anything else, back then. It wasn’t so much that I admired her, it was that I wanted to BE her. I received a Miss Piggy puppet doll for my birthday and I loved her immoderately. I called her “my little sister” but that wasn’t entirely correct. Really, that Miss Piggy puppet was my secret identity. Instead of brown, Dorothy Hamill hair, my real hair was long, blonde, and perfectly feathered. Instead of corduroy pants and striped t-shirts, I wore purple satin gowns with long gloves, tiaras and fur stoles. I was the star of the show, my own private imaginary show. I was beautiful and fierce and commanded adoration from my fans.
The romance with Kermit (Kermie?) wasn’t something I focused on, really. It was all about being a sweepingly beautiful pig with fabulous fashion sense. I didn’t really want to be dating a frog, particularly one who was one third of my size. I thought, even back in 1979, that Miss Piggy was better off on her own rather than being desperately in love with an amphibian who wasn’t even clothed most of the time. Kermit didn’t appreciate her. He didn’t appreciate her beauty, or her talent, or her larger-than-life personality.
When it came down to it, I wanted Miss Piggy to plant her own garden rather than wait for someone to bring her flowers. I wanted this:
Rather than this:
This week the news came out that Miss Piggy and Kermit have officially called it quits. They are no longer a couple, which is fine, but there’s more. Kermit has a new love, and it’s another lady pig. A LESSER lady pig, I might add. I guess after all those years of dithering, Kermit seems to have a type, and that type is lady pigs. The new girlfriend’s name is Denise, which strikes me as a ridiculous name for a pig. Miss Piggy, now that’s the name for a pig. DENISE? I don’t think so.
Well, she can have him. I mean, really. He’s not a catch. He was discovered playing the BANJO in a SWAMP, FFS. Aim higher, Miss Piggy. A pig with your beauty and fashion sense – not to mention kick-ass karate moves – can do so much better.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my dressing room.