"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin" is not so funny when you get older. First of all, there are hairs on my chinny chin chin. Second of all, I can't see them anymore. I can only feel them.
And "huff and puff"? That's what happens when we go up stairs.
Forget about blowing my house down, will you? My home represents a significant part of my nest egg. You'd be dooming me to living on the streets. Worse yet, living with my kids.
Then, there's sibling rivalry over who has the better house, who's smarter. Sure, my house may be made of sticks but I'm comfortable, thank you. Think you can't knock over that brick house? House of cards, is what that is. A wolf might not be able to blow it over but an upset in the securities market will collapse that house in a heartbeat. Think you're so smart.... Hmf.
And, really, let's talk about words: pigs, little, and wolf. Are we body shaming or stereotyping? Words have meaning. Let's not belittle and shame the victims of this tyrant and while we're at it, who is this tyrant? Something that can hurt us or something that we're afraid of because they look different from us? Have we really gotten to know this "wolf?" Have we tried to understand the wolf's point of view?
Pull the covers up tight and sleep well, little ones. The story doesn't end well for anyone: everybody gets eaten alive. Get over it. Life isn't fair. Soon, you'll have hairs on your chinny chin chin as well.
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