This is a stone frog. Though it is hard to tell, the flexuous curve of its lips is where the head comes apart and reveals a small space to store valuables—if you have any marshmallow-sized valuables. The head is a bit unstable however and makes a charming clunky sound when handled. It’s delicately carved and smooth and fits nicely in the palm of my hand.
Were I a crazed composer slaving over the final stanzas of my magnum opus, I would surely hurl this frog at my immortal beloved, insisting she leave me be. “Can’t you see I’m working?” I would scream at a hastily-closed door. Then I would return to my piano. To create.
What is it about a piano and a mess of staff paper that makes it look like “work”? Tossing this frog at someone from behind my Macbook would just seem like a dick move. “Can’t you see I’m working?” Who’s going to believe that?