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The Witch Who Owns the Williamstown Apothecary Turned Me into a Frog, and Now You Have to Kiss Me

Dear Williams College Community,

My name is Steven, and I need your help.

Until last week, I lived in relative obscurity on this campus. I did my homework. I ate my meals. I even drank a beer. I was a man, and life was easy. But I made a mistake, and I have paid dearly for it.

I am no longer a man.

I, Steven, am a frog. And if it’s not too much trouble, I really need someone to kiss me.

Let me explain. Last week, I wandered into an establishment called the Williamstown Apothecary, searching for a cure for my ailments (edibles). The withered old crone withheld her elixirs from me, and I’ll admit, I flew into a state of unadulterated rage. I may or may not have called her a “horrible wench” and “stinky.” I may have gently reminded her that “weed is fucking cool,” and “why are you a narc?” I may have punched her dog. Actually, I don’t know if it was her dog, but there was definitely a dog on Spring Street and I definitely punched it. It was probably hers because it was old and feeble looking, and people always say that dogs look like their owners. I digress.

It wasn’t my finest moment. I let my emotions overcome me. Normally when that happens, I just list things that calm me: edibles. But she didn’t have any of those. So I was fucking pissed.

After my outburst, the witch looked me right in the eyes and mumbled an ancient incantation in a language I didn’t understand, maybe Spanish, or Hungarian. Suddenly, the walls began to tremble, and a green smoke rose up through the floorboards. The artisanal candies and the wooden toothbrushes quaked. 15 dollar bottles of essential oils shattered. Everything smelled like eucalyptus. It was so scary.

And now I write to you as a humble, lowly frog. It’s really embarrassing because I’m not a big frog, like the frog from Frog and Toad. I am a very little frog and have to hop from key to key. Writing this took fucking forever, and you wouldn’t even BELIEVE how hard it was to get the people at Sawyer to lend me this laptop.

So I have one humble request. Does anyone want to kiss me? I’ve heard that works. I went to the health center about this and they told me I could try that, but none of them offered to kiss me themselves, even though I only yelled at them a little.

I don’t care who you are, or what you look like. I mean, I care a little bit. Even in this tiny frog body, I’m still a red blooded American male. But honestly, I’d take anyone. Literally anyone. Even Jeff, from the Haystack, if he wanted to do that. He has dreamy eyes. I don’t know. Whatever. All I request is that you lather your smackers up with some of Burt's Bee’s Pomegranate Lip Balm and get ready to go on a sensual rollercoaster of mouth-love with the finest amphibian this side of the Green River.

Just try not to fall in love with me.


Steven Jarrett ‘23


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