Disclaimer: I do not own Goldilocks, nor do I want to. That little tramp.
WANNABE RICHIE,
or,
She Who Dyes Her Hair Money Colored, But Still Has Brown Roots
Once upon a time, long ago and far away, there lived a young kleptomaniac who went by the handle She Who Dyes Her Hair Money Colored, But Still Has Brown Roots, or Wannabe Richie. Wannabe Richie's mother was monetarily challenged, and was forced to send Wannabe Richie out to beg every morning. Wannabe Richie often supplemented the day's earnings with what she could liberate from people's pockets, for, as she said, "If they really needed it, they would keep better track of it." Eventually she tired of these easy pickings and graduated to house burgling ("borrowing from friends you haven't met before"), safe cracking ("a type of Robin Hooding: spreading the fat cats' wealth out among the poor, unfortunate souls") and extortion ("What? I don't know what you're talking about. And if you go blabbing to anybody, I'll have to reveal about that one time...").
One day when the police, angered citizens and various domestic animals ("How was I supposed to know if you killed the Golden Goose there wouldn't be any more eggs?") chased young Wannabe Richie into the deep, dark, scary woods, she came across a cottage. Noticing the inhabitants were absent, she carefully cased the joint. The windows were low and wide, providing easy access. In the event that they proved unsusceptible to jimmying, there was a wide chimney which was unlikely to have a fire because of the unseasonable summer heat. Wannabe Richie walked around the house one more time, this time realizing that the door was wiiiiide open.
"Just my lucky day!" she crowed, conveniently forgetting the angry lynch mob not far behind her. She blithely trespassed onto the premises, shutting the door behind her. Around ten minutes later, the mob showed up, looked around, recognized the building and went home.
Wandering into the kitchen, Wannabe Richie discovered three place settings of porridge, one big, one small, and one medium. Because of her disadvantaged youth, Wannabe Richie had learned to eat food whenever she found it, and today was no exception. She started with the big bowl, thinking "Hey, I'm pretty hungry." Unfortunately, it burned her tongue and she spit it out in disgust. Then she smashed the bowl in anger, adding vandalism to her long list of offenses. Next she tried the medium bowl, but this was too cold for her picky palate. She added this bowl to the pottery fragments on the floor. Finally, she tried the small bowl. This porridge was just right so she licked it clean and then added the bowl to her knapsack.
Next Wannabe Richie proceeded into the living room, where she noticed three rather comfortable looking chairs. The highest chair, which she naturally gravitated toward, thinking it was a place of authority, gave her height sickness so she tore out the stuffing and used it to start a bonfire in the middle of the floor. Then she sat in the middle chair to enjoy the blaze. Because this chair was of medium height, the smoke got in her eyes and made her cough. Wannabe Richie grabbed this chair and smashed out a window, both to allow the smoke to escape and to provide an easy exit for herself in case of emergency. Feeling exhausted, she collapsed in the last chair, a beanbag, and continued to enjoy the fire, occasionally tossing chunks of chair into it.
Due to a combination of her strenuous running, the smoke, and a full stomach, Wannabe Richie was experiencing extreme drowsiness. As her eyelids began to droop, she slowly made her way up the stairs. Having learned her lesson, she went straight to the small bed and fell into a deep, smoke-induced sleep.
Several hours later, she was awakened from a particularly happy dream about rolling in piles of golden coins by angry noises from below. Her adrenaline kicked in and, on finely honed reflex due to prior experience, Wannabe Richie leaped from the bed. In a glance she saw that the pursuit was too close for her to use the stairs, so she opened the window and was about to exit when she was violently yanked back in by her ankle. She slowly turned around to see a big smiling bear.
"Well, we may not have any porridge but we've got fresh meat."
When the town found out, it gave the three bears a medal of honor and sponsored an annual feast where free porridge was provided for all.
Moral: If you want to be a richie, don't get eaten by bears.
WANNABE RICHIE,
or,
She Who Dyes Her Hair Money Colored, But Still Has Brown Roots
Once upon a time, long ago and far away, there lived a young kleptomaniac who went by the handle She Who Dyes Her Hair Money Colored, But Still Has Brown Roots, or Wannabe Richie. Wannabe Richie's mother was monetarily challenged, and was forced to send Wannabe Richie out to beg every morning. Wannabe Richie often supplemented the day's earnings with what she could liberate from people's pockets, for, as she said, "If they really needed it, they would keep better track of it." Eventually she tired of these easy pickings and graduated to house burgling ("borrowing from friends you haven't met before"), safe cracking ("a type of Robin Hooding: spreading the fat cats' wealth out among the poor, unfortunate souls") and extortion ("What? I don't know what you're talking about. And if you go blabbing to anybody, I'll have to reveal about that one time...").
One day when the police, angered citizens and various domestic animals ("How was I supposed to know if you killed the Golden Goose there wouldn't be any more eggs?") chased young Wannabe Richie into the deep, dark, scary woods, she came across a cottage. Noticing the inhabitants were absent, she carefully cased the joint. The windows were low and wide, providing easy access. In the event that they proved unsusceptible to jimmying, there was a wide chimney which was unlikely to have a fire because of the unseasonable summer heat. Wannabe Richie walked around the house one more time, this time realizing that the door was wiiiiide open.
"Just my lucky day!" she crowed, conveniently forgetting the angry lynch mob not far behind her. She blithely trespassed onto the premises, shutting the door behind her. Around ten minutes later, the mob showed up, looked around, recognized the building and went home.
Wandering into the kitchen, Wannabe Richie discovered three place settings of porridge, one big, one small, and one medium. Because of her disadvantaged youth, Wannabe Richie had learned to eat food whenever she found it, and today was no exception. She started with the big bowl, thinking "Hey, I'm pretty hungry." Unfortunately, it burned her tongue and she spit it out in disgust. Then she smashed the bowl in anger, adding vandalism to her long list of offenses. Next she tried the medium bowl, but this was too cold for her picky palate. She added this bowl to the pottery fragments on the floor. Finally, she tried the small bowl. This porridge was just right so she licked it clean and then added the bowl to her knapsack.
Next Wannabe Richie proceeded into the living room, where she noticed three rather comfortable looking chairs. The highest chair, which she naturally gravitated toward, thinking it was a place of authority, gave her height sickness so she tore out the stuffing and used it to start a bonfire in the middle of the floor. Then she sat in the middle chair to enjoy the blaze. Because this chair was of medium height, the smoke got in her eyes and made her cough. Wannabe Richie grabbed this chair and smashed out a window, both to allow the smoke to escape and to provide an easy exit for herself in case of emergency. Feeling exhausted, she collapsed in the last chair, a beanbag, and continued to enjoy the fire, occasionally tossing chunks of chair into it.
Due to a combination of her strenuous running, the smoke, and a full stomach, Wannabe Richie was experiencing extreme drowsiness. As her eyelids began to droop, she slowly made her way up the stairs. Having learned her lesson, she went straight to the small bed and fell into a deep, smoke-induced sleep.
Several hours later, she was awakened from a particularly happy dream about rolling in piles of golden coins by angry noises from below. Her adrenaline kicked in and, on finely honed reflex due to prior experience, Wannabe Richie leaped from the bed. In a glance she saw that the pursuit was too close for her to use the stairs, so she opened the window and was about to exit when she was violently yanked back in by her ankle. She slowly turned around to see a big smiling bear.
"Well, we may not have any porridge but we've got fresh meat."
When the town found out, it gave the three bears a medal of honor and sponsored an annual feast where free porridge was provided for all.
Moral: If you want to be a richie, don't get eaten by bears.