The Three Bears...and then some
Once upon a time, in a far away land where not only could animals talk, they were expected to talk, there lived a rosy single mother and daughter family in a tiny cottage in the middle of a lush forest. The daughter, a little girl, was named Goldilocks. Why she was named Goldilocks remains a mystery, as she had an abundance of chestnut tresses that fell to her waist. But we will assume it was a sad blunder on her mother's part and move on with the story.
Goldilocks, although she was lively and cherubic, had one failing as most fairytale-girls have. She was undeniably, incredibly stupid. She sat close to her mother all day, blinking her eyes slowly and chattering ceaselessly about butterflies and flowers and the sky, or nothing at all. I would have called her a nuisance; her mother called her endearing. The two survived well with each other in that rustic hut with naught to amuse them except butterflies and flowers and – considerably well, that is, till the day Goldilocks deemed lovely enough to frolic through the nearby wood.
She smelled first this rose and then stroked the petals of this honeysuckle; she chased a moth, a bird, a squirrel. It was not until she had traveled a great distance away from her home that she began to have the faintest notion she might have gotten lost. So realizing this, she plucked a daisy from the soil and began tearing off its petals. You might have called her innocent, for her mother certainly did. I would have called her simpleminded. Then, as sluggishly as she ever did things, Goldilocks turned her head from side to side as if searching for her mother. Upon seeing nothing but the dense vegetation and a patch of azure sky, she began to panic.
"Mama!" she called, to no one in particular.
If you had been lost in the forest, you might have had more sense than this round, pea-brain of a girl. I know I certainly would not have continued wandering aimlessly through unfamiliar grounds with naught but a mangled daisy and a hair ribbon. But this story, unfortunately, is about Goldilocks, so it is what she did in this situation that I must continue to narrate.
Goldilocks snapped the clutching, black fingers of trees as she wove through the gnarled roots and destroyed mushrooms underfoot. (Never say that the children in fairy-tales are not destructive or do not possess any strength; you can see that even a young girl such as Goldilocks can effectively efface an entire population of fungi while still lacerating a great deal of trees.) By the time she had reached a clearing, I've no doubt that at least twenty different species of fungi had gone extinct. Nevertheless, she found herself facing a bright and cozy looking cottage with a thatched roof and flowers under the shutters. The door was tightly shut and only faint wisps of smoke were trailing out of the red brick chimney, but Goldilocks deduced that there must be people living there and so stepped boldly up to the olive green door and knocked once, twice, thrice.
Let us leave the damsel in distress for a moment, as I tell you of the current owners of that bright cottage with a thatched roof.
Of this family, there were three. Yes, they happened to be bears, but this is of no consequence, as they were very learned and honest bears, and perfectly presentable to society. The Papa bear, who was named Henry, was the bear with the least sense. He always had his briar pipe in one corner of his mouth and at least one book or newspaper tucked under his right arm. His eyes were exceptionally bad, even though he commonly wore spectacles at the end of his snout, with milky, thick lenses. And he would often get worked into a temper about an injustice or some other having to do with philosophy or politics or both. And then his wife, Clara, would have to shush him gently lest the neighbors hear. She was a kindly and matronly bear, who was fond of dresses, but fonder of her son, Christopher. She cooked and cleaned around the house, and was so mild tempered that only the Baby bear had seen her angry, once. She could always be seen with an apron around her waist and usually smelled like whatever savory dish she had been concocting in her kitchen. And the Baby bear, Christopher, was a playful little bear who always tracked mud into the house and broke figurines or dishes, and ran into the forest to play whenever he had the chance. These three, the family of bears, were very well liked around the forest, and had made friends with everyone as soon as they moved in. (The house had been owned by a senile old witch who insisted upon decorating it with éclairs, gingerbreads, frosting, and the like. I don't know what did happen to her, but I expect she was carted off to an asylum a few miles north. No one cares, at any rate. What is important is that the trio of bears occupied the spot and refurbished almost the entire lot so it was unrecognizable. This is the brief history of the house.)
The particular morning that Goldilocks ventured into the forest, Papa bear, Mama bear, and Baby bear were out of the house. They had decided on yet another educational excursion round the forest while their porridge cooled, to teach the little Baby bear the names of the deciduous and evergreen trees. The bright cub learned his facts very quickly.
"That's a sycamore maple," Papa bear said, pointing grandly.
"Acer pseudoplatanus," Baby bear said knowingly. "And that's Acer rubrum."
"Exquisitus," said Papa bear.
They continued along for five more minutes in silence, absorbing the fresh air and assorted scents that kept wafting towards them from their neighbors' homes. Pickles from the raccoon family. Strawberries from the mouse family. Fresh vegetables from the rabbit family. Savory cinnamon bread from the squirrel family. But underneath it was –
"Is something burning?" Mama bear asked suddenly, jerking her head upwards and sniffing the air. She had remained silent until this moment because of her limited knowledge of trees and shrubs, being a country bear that hadn't gone to a true school since she was a cub.
"It's your imagination," Baby bear told her.
"No, no, there is some sort of strange smell," Papa bear declared. "Let us extrapolate."
"Investigate?" Baby bear suggested.
"Yes, yes," Papa bear said indifferently, striding onwards.
But by the time they had reached a fork in the path, they knew the smell was floating from their own cottage. Mama bear worried the house might be burning, and voiced her worry, but Papa bear declared he was more worried about his books.
"Someone might have stolen them," Papa bear explained.
"No one would want to steal your books," Baby bear replied.
Now, let us return to Goldilocks and observe her behavior. When nobody had opened the door for her, she opened it herself, rude girl. The bears never locked their doors because their walks usually lasted no more than ten minutes, but alas, they were not lucky today. The girl barged right in and found three bowls of porridge all prepared for her (she thought). This is where the fairytale books have been a bit misinformed; Goldilocks did not try each bowl of porridge, she ate each bowl without a thought. And then, when she tried to cook more porridge for herself, she accidentally caught her skirts on fire, which was the burning smell that Mama bear caught a whiff of. Now being an unintelligent girl, Goldilocks could do nothing but run in circles, thus catching the curtains on fire and burning up the whole house. The fact is that she never got broke any chairs or invaded any bedrooms, for she burned it all down before she had a chance.
"We never expected that would happen," Mama bear would say later, but it was too late.
This concludes the tragic tale of three unhappy bears that were nearly caught in an accident but instead had to watch their home burn to the ground while a shrieking girl still pranced around within.