Pretty and the Beastie

Once upon a time there was a young girl named Pretty who longed to see the world. And she did. She travelled to foreign lands and explored exotic territories. She even visited high priced tourist spots in her own country and felt all the better for it. But Pretty was troubled. She felt it was time to settle down and raise a family.

One day, when Pretty was living in a far away but homey principality run by several feudal warlords and extremist villager factions, she came across the Beastie. Now, the Beastie wasn't terribly beastly at the time, and even quite good looking in a beastie, werewolfish sort of way. And as time passed, Pretty fell in love with the misunderstood yet loveable Beastie. And they married. And they had babies that, thankfully, looked more like Pretty and less like Beastie.

One day, when Pretty was rocking the Wee Beastie to sleep in their once grand but now dilapidated country manor that still technically belonged to some long lost half uncle on the Beastie's second cousin's aunt's side, Beastie came home and announced that the villagers were scheduling a mass protest against carniverous neighbors and it was time for them to move on. He had chosen a remote fiefdom far, far away for their next home.

"But where will we live," Pretty asked.

"In a cave I have found with a stream nearby so there's running water," the Beastie replied.

"Um, Beastie," Pretty hesitated to broach the subject. "I'm not exactly a cave and stream kinda gal."

"Now, Pretty," the Beastie responded, "you knew what I was like when you married me."

"True," Pretty thought. For very nearly all her life, Pretty had assumed everybody knew better about everything than her. That, of course, would explain some of the more severe fashion disasters like leg warmers and puffed red leather jackets.

"What will we do for a living," Pretty asked.

"Eventually I'm sure I'll find something - probably in the security field...overwatching flocks, that sort of thing," the Beastie told her. "Until then, we'll just have to rough it for a while and I'll steal a chicken or two. You can stretch two chickens for six weeks you're so talented."

"Um...Beastie," Pretty hesitated again, but felt it really should be raised. "The Wee Beastie and the Beastette need clothes and food and annoying toys with batteries."

"Now, Pretty," the Beastie rumbled a little louder this time, "you knew what I was like when you married me."

Pretty chewed her lip and tried to think of the many ways she could stretch the meat of two chickens. And perhaps wring a neck or two.

That night, Pretty asked, "But Beastie, how will we get to town or run errands or entertain? I won't be able to paint cave walls or have a garden."

"Well, Pretty," the Beastie replied, obviously frustrated with her questions, "we're not going to be able to do those things. But we're stuck with it now and we're just going to have to do the best we can."

"Um...Beastie," Pretty spoke up, quite boldly now. "I'm not really a just do the best we can kinda gal. I need security and...well...security. I really am a financial, emotional and spiritual security kinda gal. And you are a Beastie, after all."

"Now, Pretty," the Beastie nearly roared, "you knew what I was like when you married me."

"Well," said Pretty, "that's not quite true. My cousin Beauty married a Beastie and he turned out to be a charming prince who had learned his lesson about humanity. He has 200k a year PLUS enchanted furniture. I have a deficit from what I started with."

"Oh, please," the Beastie snarled, "those aren't real Beasties. Momma's boys living off their dead parent's money...they don't do anything for themselves - that's what the enchanted furniture's for. Only about 3% of the Beasties are enchanted. The rest of us were born Beasties, stay Beasties and will die horrible, ugly, smelly, tangly, snarly Beasties."

At this point, Pretty realized with a certain amount of dread that she would have to move to a far, far away fiefdom with a completely unenchanting Beastie and there would be no forthcoming castle, no large family inheritance, no bewitched servants to help her with her household chores. Where else could she go, what else would she do? So Pretty began to learn the art of cave drawings with bits of burnt wood, and how to tell a Moose from an Elk and all sorts of really useful things.

The moral of the story? Umm...I'm not really a moral to the story kinda gal.