I have good news and bad news. I’ll start with the bad news first: I was captured by a hungry witch who demanded that I cook her dinner. Judging by her reaction, she didn’t like the hot dogs I microwaved for her. In a fit of pique, she insisted that I eat a plateful of brussel sprouts as my punishment. I was saved from her ire when my husband sprinted into the room. He smacked a kiss on my mouth, fought off the witch, and led me to the stairs.
Have you raced down a steep stone staircase lately? It isn’t easy. We slipped and stumbled down the cold hard steps. We heard the witch screech in anger as she summoned her minions. We had to hurry in order to elude capture.
I could hear the witch wail, “Now I don’t have a cook anymore!” In a way, I sympathized with her. I’d be mad if my cook ran away, too. I stumbled and my husband slung me over his shoulder. He quickly outran our pursuers.
When we got to a safe place, we rested under a shady tree.
“We missed you,” my husband confided. “I’m so glad I found you.”
“I owe you so much thanks. I will make you anything you want for dinner.” I promised.
“There are better things to do than cook.” He said. “Let’s just have hot dogs and chips tonight.”
And that is how I knew that my husband was really my Prince Charming.