In the land Of Wassup, many years ago, there lived a woman named Deseria. She was renowned for her beauty. Not only did Deseria know she was beautiful, she wanted everyone around her to appreciate just how gorgeous she was. Every morning and night she would go through the routine of brushing her luscious blonde hair the required 500 strokes, all the while gazing lovingly at her reflection.
Twice a day she would speak the following words to her mirror, “Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” Luckily for her, the mirror wasn’t at all magical. Otherwise, it would have used it’s magical ability to throttle her. Still, Deseria would play her little game, and in her mind, she would hear the mirror telling her what a real stunner she was and how every woman in the world was extremely jealous of her beauty.
One stormy night as she was lovingly gazing at her reflection she noticed what appeared to be some wrinkles. Heaven forbids that anything should mar her striking beauty. What to do, what to do she moans to herself as she paces her room, no longer looking in the mirror in case she was to see more wrinkles. Then she remembers that a young warlock was reported to live on the other side of town and she decided that she would pay him a visit first thing in the morning.
The next day, hiding her new found wrinkles in an expensive silk veil she asks around to see if anyone knew where the warlock lived. An old hag directs her to the residence of one Sire, warlock extraordinaire. Upon arrival, she knocks on the door, and to her surprise, a young hunk of a man opens it. The first thing that comes to her mind is ‘Wow, this guy can fix more than just my complexion!’ Sire, on the other hand, remembers her as the young girl who made fun of a pimply skinny kid and the vow that he made to make her pay for her cruelty.
He guides her to the couch and listens to her drivel, all the while wondering just how to make her pay for what she did. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Her vanity was the answer, and instead of making her skin luscious and smooth again he decided to do the exact opposite. With a twinkle in his eye, he gives her a concoction that he promises will make her even more beautiful than before. After giving her explicit instructions, he sends her home.
She was so happy that her feet seemed to skim above the ground as she almost ran home, so eager was she to have beauty restored to its former glory. Upon reaching her home, she follows the instructions to the letter. She takes the concoction and mixes it with fresh milk and some of her feces, (did I mention she was a blond) and after rubbing it in liberally all over her body, she promptly went to bed managed to fall asleep, putrid smell and all.
Early the next morning she woke up and excitedly went to have a shower so she could wash the foul-smelling muck off. As the putrid mess started to wash off, to her shock and horror rather than leaving her skin silky smooth, it was all hard and wrinkled. She screamed, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong. In a panic she dresses and covering herself in a veil, once again so she would not be recognized, she goes to Sire’s abode to find out what could have gone wrong.
She bangs on the door until suddenly it was flung open and she gazed at Sire’s manic eyes. She screams at him asking him what the heck was going on, all the while beating on his muscular chest. Sire just waits until she stops out of sheer exhaustion and then calmly recounts the time when they were kids and how she had always made fun of his pimply appearance, in front of the whole village. He then goes on to tell her how the potion he had given her had only just started to work and that in time she would look like a shrivelled up old hag, unless…….. ‘Unless what she screams!’
‘Well Deseria, there is only one way in which the spell from the potion can be reversed! You have to go to the centre of Wassup, in the village square at high noon. You must dig a hole in front of all those watching and then you are to place your head into the hole and lift your legs into the air. Only then will you return to normal.”
With a scream, she rushes to the village square, and with her bare hands, she digs a hole in the earth. Then, with all the villagers watching, she places her head into the ground and lifts her legs into the air. (Did I mention that she was a blond?). To her surprise, her limbs went all stiff, and before she could do anything about it the ground closed around her head, and where once there was a luscious, curvaceous blond bombshell now stood a tree bearing the form of a naked woman.
Or perhaps it should be; “Don’t pick on the poor pimple-faced boy Because you never know how he will turn out.”
Maybe you have a better moral?