Monday, January 5, 2009

A Princess With A Lot To Lose Learns A Lesson





"Tell us the story about the Princess and the Pizza Mommy," Angela begged. "We all ate so much over the holidays, and we really need incentive to take some pounds off." "Okay, puddies, here goes:

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess with the initials AZN. When she came to be five decades old, a miscreant ancestor cast an evil spell upon her so that whatever she ate immediately settled as huge clumps of fat on her legs, waist, arms and bum. Soon, none of her beautiful gowns fit. Worse still, she became known as “Her Porkness” behind her back.

“Hark, I must do something about this,” she told herself one day. “Or I will become the laughing stock of the court.” So the beautiful princess tried a liquid diet. She drank three chalice-fulls with each meal. It didn’t work. She switched to an “Eat All The Kumquats You Want and Lose” plan but got stomach cramps and had to quit. Sir Atkins suggested she sup on nothing but mutton; then nothing but fish, but that only made her spend the day on the throne. So she hung her head and cried.
To cheer her up, the princess’s cousin, Lady Bunns, of Steele, came to visit for a fortnight. After breakfast one morning, she suggested the princess join her for a chat as she walked around the court. Bear in mind the princess’s usual day consisted of eating, sitting, napping, writing poetry, spinning, some crewel work, and listening to the court minstrels. In other words, she spent a lot of time in her quarters on her keister. So getting out of the castle proved exhilarating--especially since it was summer, the air was fresh, and flowers were in bloom.

“I take these jaunts often,” announced Lady Bunns. “Thou art welcome to join me.” So the two started walking regularly. And as they did, they spoke of many things. Her Porkness--I mean, the beautiful princess--poured out her heart to her cousin, who in turn, confided that she, too, had been plagued with a similar fat spell.

How can that be?” cried the princess. “You eat like an ox, yet art slim as a jousting lance. Tell me, Lady Bunns,” she pleaded, “that I might do the same. How did you break the spell?”
Lady Bunns leaned in closer. “Well,” she said, “thou must eat moderately.”
“Oh, but I already do,” wailed the princess. “In fact, there are times I practically starve myself.”
“But there’s something else,” said Lady Bunns. “And you must do it not just for a month or six, or a year, or two, but ever after.”

“Tell, me. Tell me.” the princess cried out even louder.
“Well, if thy must know, it’s called ‘exercise.’
“Exercise!” the princess blurted. “I’d rather be boiled in oil.”

Still, when Lady Bunns returned to Steele, the beautiful princess decided she had no other alternative than to do the dreaded exercise. She walked around the court twice a day and joined a spa in the next village. Slowly, the fat melted off her, and six months later, she had lost 30 pounds. The same folks who had given her the porcine label now chided her “Thou art too thin,” to which the princess retorted: “Eat thy hearts out.”

When two years had passed and the princess was able to maintain her Gweneviere-like physic, she knew the spell had truly lifted. In fact, she noted, as long as she pumped iron at least three times a week, she could splurge on mead and sweetcakes now and again.

Sadly, Lady Bunns, of Steele, did not follow her own instructions. These days she is somewhere in Idaho modeling “big mama”gowns for women of substance.

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