Goldilocks and the Three Bears — a Completely Over-the-top Retelling
Once upon a time (1869 to be exact), in a galaxy far far way, lived three bears. They made their home in a cozy little cottage right bang smack in the middle of a forest. On the whole, they were quite well-to-do and proper. Well, Mama Bear and Papa Bear were proper at least, and they did their best to make Baby Bear give off the same vibe. (Baby Bear didn’t care for grown up things like being proper yet, as it didn’t seem like much fun.)
One morning, Mama Bear made some hot porridge, and Papa Bear suggested they go for a walk in the forest to let it cool down. He then decided it’d be an especially long one, as he had packed on the pounds during hibernation and really wanted to get his beach body back. Mama Bear noted his decision (and little did she know at the time, but she would quote him on it later when all hell broke loose on their return).
Meanwhile, a rather unruly and generally frowned upon middle-aged woman called Goldilocks happened to be in the neighbourhood. As she passed by the cottage, she could smell the aroma of porridge wafting her way. It made her tummy rumble, and she thought, why not? In those days, houses were spaced miles apart. When the coast was clear, you basically had a free pass to go in, if you were so inclined.
She walked up onto the freshly stained deck, peeked in an open window, and hollered ‘Helloooooo?’
Nothing in response but a light breeze and billowing curtain.
She saw a bottle of milk on the bench. Well, I’m going to drink some milk because that’s what I would have done in the 1837 version of this story, she thought. But when she saw there was porridge, she decided, in a dramatic break with tradition, to help herself to that too. Besides, she had heard other goldilocks characters from the older stories remark in interviews that the milk by itself didn’t quite hit the spot.
Now it was time to do the chair thing. She tried them out one by one, and broke Baby Bear’s by mistake. Just for kicks, she broke the other two as well. Then she decided that she wanted to sit down. But she hadn’t really thought things through very well had she, as now all the chairs were broken, the only real option was the floor.
She sat there cross-legged ruminating for a while. I know what, I’ll call my mates over for a party. She went outside to tell a passer-by to spread the word, and within minutes a bunch of hooligans had shown up. Oh my, word travels quickly, she thought.
To kick things off, they made their way over to the top shelf and polished off all of the spirits. Then the sight of the broken chairs gave somebody the idea to trash the place. A rather corpulent chap started swinging on a chandelier, and it fell with a crash almost taking out one of his mates. Another person was less fortunate however, and in an unwitting nod to an old Irish proverb went to slide from the top floor down the banister, only to meet with a large splinter facing the wrong way. After about half an hour of ransacking the place, everybody got bored and went home.
Except for Goldilocks.
She took one look at Papa Bear’s bed, which he hadn’t bothered to make, and turned her nose up at it in disgust. Mama Bear’s bed looked way more inviting, as it had a lovely (albeit clichéd) tartan bedspread and was nicely tucked in. She lay on it but found it too soft. In fact, it was so soft that the greater part of it had clumped together and become lumpy. One lump was so big that she wondered whether the family cat was snoozing under the covers. She let that thought go as quickly as a dog wouldn’t.
Next she decided to check out a little room at the end of the hall. There was a little bed there, and she decided to sit on it. No sooner had she begun thinking how comfy it was than it collapsed in a heap.
As much as it made her feel sheepish for flip-flopping about where to go, she decided to make her way back to the master bedroom and settle for Papa’s bed after all. [Dear reader, we mustn’t see this as yet another example of the patriarchy at work here; it was the only realistic option if she was going to get some shuteye.] Papa’s bed turned out to be way too hard though. And I mean granite hard. She tossed and turned for about 30 seconds before she thought, bugger it, pretty bloody ballsy of me to even attempt to have a nap in a stranger’s house to begin with let alone one belonging to hyper-intelligent bears. I had better scoot.
This is when the bears arrived out front. Papa Bear didn’t notice that the door was ajar. Mama Bear, on the other hand, did notice the door was ajar and at first secretly blamed Papa Bear but then recalled that it hadn’t been that way when they had set out. Her bear instincts kicked in. She strode in front of Papa, took on an offensive stance with paws up and all and entered the house on high alert.
Mama Bear was utterly dismayed to find their home in disarray. It was a complete pig sty, to be quite frank. Bottles smashed on the kitchen floor, honey poured across the bench, books strewn all over the room — not to mention the broken chairs that had started it all. She let out a roar so loud it would make a grown bear weep. She scowled at Papa Bear and said “It’s all your fault — you’re the one who decided to go on such a long walk.” Papa Bear was a grown bear, and weep is what he did.
From the bedroom, Goldilocks had heard the sound of Mama Bear roaring like a T-Rex. This freaked her out and sent her scurrying around the room like a headless chicken. Then she noticed a laundry chute leading from the room to the garden below. She grabbed the large silk handkerchief (which just happened to be there) and slid down the chute but way quicker than she had anticipated. Wooosh! Luckily a thoughtful somebody had set up a haystack at the bottom of it. Unfortunately though, a less thoughtful somebody (probably Papa Bear if you asked Mama Bear) had left a bag of rocks in the haystack. Because Goldilocks had made the rash decision of going down the chute head-first, she hit her head hard, and the last thing she remembered was swirling stars.
Eventually the bears found her in an unconscious state, but at first it didn’t register who she was, as in 1854 she was still known as Silver-Hair. [Editor’s note: that’s a fact; you can look it up for yourself.] Mama Bear eventually pieced together all of what had gone on and concluded that, yep, the girl before her just had to be Silver-Hair in spite of her golden locks. I bet she dyes it, she concluded.
When Goldilocks came to, the bears gave her a right old bollocking. Papa Bear said it was about time she grew up and got some manners and then sent her on her merry way. By this point, he’d had an absolute gut’s full, and his mind turned to the spirits that were no longer on the top shelf. The last thing he did was write out an itemised list of the damages for his insurance company to sort out.
That night, Goldilocks thought, I’m getting too old for this shit. From then on, she mended her ways and never dyed her hair again.
