Steemitbloggers Contest - Goldilocks and the Big Hairy Briggins

Dear Captain of the King's Guard,

Your humble servant begs your deepest apologies for interrupting your afternoon nap, but as I was on my way to Zordic Kingdom this happy morn, I saw the most incredible intrusion imaginable upon mine eyes. From this point on, I will refer to this event as the Triple-I Encounter.

Image from Pixabay.

As you know, the cottage in the wood (you know the one, where you and I had that magical experience with the Twinkleberries on our way to college) puffs like an old stogie when Mrs. Twinkleberry does her fabulous cooking. But the usual puff, as you know, is a long and stringy bellow of black smoke that undoubtedly improves the taste of Mrs. Twinkleberry's incredible vittles. On this one occasion, however, the aforementioned Triple-I Encounter, there was a soft pink glow emanating from the chimney and dancing its way over the trees toward the east.

As intrigued as I've always been by soft pink glows, I decided to take a peak through the cottage window to see what Mrs. Twinkleberry may be cooking up this time. Much to my dismay, it wasn't Mrs. Twinkleberry at all. Instead, I saw the cutest little blonde-haired young lady with curly pig tails and pretty red lips. You know, the usual guy fantasy stuff. She must have been just old enough to cook, and then some.

When I took a closer look at the stove upon which she was cooking, I saw a very familiar pot of hot porridge. It was that huge pot Mrs. Twinkleberry always reserves for guest parties. You know, the big black one that holds somewhere around 15 gallons. And I thought, well, that's a lot of porridge for one young lady to eat all alone.

Suddenly, in through the back door, just like he owned the place, walked a Briggins. And, boy, was he a biggun.

Image from Pixabay.

I watched to see what might occur from that moment on, because I knew, first off, that the young lady did not live there and certainly did not make that porridge, and secondly, that the Brigginses don't usually walk through back doors on their hairy hind legs. Something was amiss.

In walked this Briggin, and before I could blink my marveling eyes, he sat down in Papa Twinkleberry's chair at the kitchen table. And he didn't even wash his hands!

After a moment or two of stirring that porridge, the young lady grabbed two bowls off the top shelf of Mrs. Twinkleberry's cabinetry and placed them gently--oh, she was so gentle (more gentle even than Mrs. Twinkleberry)--on the table, one in front of the big hairy Briggins and the other in front of an empty chair. Then she took a seat in front of that second bowl!

I was agasp. Who was this young lady, pretty as a teapot, serving this big hairy bear, and, for that matter, who was the bear? Why was he there? I'm sure you have questions of your own.

It took them forever to eat that porridge! I can't believe they took their time like that. It was as if they lived there and owned that cottage and table and porridge themselves. They clearly were not concerned that the Twinkleberries might return home and find them sitting in their chairs, at their table, and eating their porridge.

After dining, and it looked like a rather cozy dining experience too, that young lady and the bear clasped each other's hand, much like two rebellious teenagers out to prove their love, and walked themselves up the stairs as if they owned the place! I could not believe my eyes. Me, a faithful servant of the king, witnessing this Triple-I Event right before the very windows of my own soul.

Image from Pixabay.

Believe me, it was unbelievable.

Not wanting to leave that pretty young lady in the hands of that big hairy bear with no defense (who knows what he might have done to her?), I decided to venture closer to see what those two might be up to. Upon checking the front door of the cottage, I noticed it wasn't even locked. No wonder the Twinkleberries had an intruder in their home that day. They don't lock their doors!

Image from Pixabay.

Slowly, quietly, ever so cautiously, I tip-toed up the stairs to the bedroom and, do you know what I saw? OMG, that young lady was lying in one of the beds! And the big bad Briggins character lay in another. Why, they even had their eyes closed!

Now, this is no ordinary Triple-I Encounter, I can assure you. Those two were planning something. I rushed down the stairs, as gently and quietly and cautiously as I could, to get out of that cottage so I could report these findings to you as soon as possible. But upon entering the kitchen, guess who I found had come back home? Yes! The Twinkleberries had walked through the front door of their home and were standing in their kitchen discussing the porridge bowls on the table.

"It looks like they made it," said Mrs. Twinkleberry.

"Yes, and it appears that they ate all that they could," said Mr. Twinkleberry.

"I hope they enjoyed it," Mrs. Twinkleberry replied.

They did not act at all surprised that someone had been sitting in their chairs and eating their porridge. But they were tremendously surprised to look up and notice me standing there.

"Who are you?" Asked Mr. Twinkleberry.

"And what are you doing in our house?" Asked Mrs. Twinkleberry.

I was so startled I could not speak. But I am sure there is something not right about that cottage, and about that young lady, and certainly not about that big hairy bear you call the Briggins. Oh, those Twinkleberries, they should have their heads examined, not worrying themselves over strangers sitting in their chairs and eating their porridge while I, a faithful servant of the king, trying only to do my duty, was questioned so feverishly.

Understand, kind sir, that I bring these matters to your attention for one reason and one reason only. Your investigation is required. Who is this girl, and why was she dressed up so pretty? Furthermore, why was she entertaining this Briggins so happily? And, thirdly, why didn't Twinkleberries concern themselves in the least?

Again, I beg your pardon for interrupting your nap with this Triple-I Encounter, but it must be investigated. For the safety of the kingdom.

Yours Truly,

The Faithful Servant of the King

Image from Pixabay.

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