Fairy tales… yes, more fairy tales. But there’s a theme today. See if you can guess what it is.
No prizes, of course, for spotting the theme (any who didn’t, please go and book a session with a suitably severe lady to be beaten for stupidity). All fairy tales should feature breathtakingly beautiful princesses, wicked queens, clever heroines and evil and sadistic villains – how much simpler the author’s task when all of those are combined in one, wonderful, elegant and… well, divine form.
Lady Red Riding Hood
She still strides through the woods in boots of finest leather. She still wears a red hood, but keeps herself warm with a wolf’s pelt about her shoulders.
The woodsman waits at home for her. He has become a good cook and cleans the cottage thoroughly. He attends to her every whim.
He’ll do for another few years. He’s still handsome and virile enough – for now. But one day he will be for the chop. With his own axe. One swift and satisfying blow.
Perhaps she’ll skin him like she did with the wolf all those years ago. She smiles to herself – a blood red smile. And strides on.
Very lovely, thank you PP.
I featured a blacksmith who became a table a couple of weeks, ago, why not a woodsman put to continued use as a fetching pair of boots or a smart leather skirt? Dyed red, I hope.
Best wishes
S
See, that’s the biggest problem with being a frog.
You just don’t realise the water is getting hot…….
Mr M
The beautiful blonde princess carefully carried the frog into the palace kitchens. “You know, frog” she said “I’ve always wondered about that saying: that if you put a frog in cold water and slowly bring it to the boil, it won’t try to escape because the change is so slow.” She commanded a small cast iron pot to be placed on one of the stoves and filled with water.
“Hmm? Oh yes, princess. Whatever you say, princess” replied the frog, dreamily. There was a small splash as he landed in the water.
Four minutes later, the Prince arrived and immediately bowed to the ground before the lovely princess, who was gazing into a gently bubbling pot with interest. A warm, slightly rancid smell filled the air.
“What are you cooking, Eleise, my beloved angel?” he inquired.
“Frog soup”, she replied curtly. “I thought it might be amusing to make you drink it.”
And the Prince silently suppressed his feelings of nausea and readily agreed that it would be an honour and a privilege to eat the slimy froggy mess that had been prepared by his betrothed’s fair hand.
Because sometimes, a male will lie still in a pot being brought to the boil by the lady he loves, even when he knows perfectly well she intends it to scald him to death.
Best wishes
S