Princess with a lot to lose learns a weighty lesson
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 spell.
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess whose initials were “A.Z.N.” (It’s my story; so never you mind.) 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. She also tried supping on nothing but mutton; then nothing but fish.
Finally, one day she noticed her corset fit less snugly. She had finally lost some weight. The spell must be broken. Ecstatic, she rushed to the kitchen for mead and sweetcakes to celebrate. The next day, her corset would not hook, and the beautiful princess 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. The princess wasn’t keen on walking. But she figured anything was better than sitting around watching herself get bigger. So off they went a-walking.
Bear in mind the princess’s usual day consisted of eating, sitting, napping, writing poetry, spinning, 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 hate to admit it,” the princess said to Lady Bunns, “but I’m actually enjoying this.” The princess didn’t quite understand what was going on, only that she had felt better and had forgotten about herself.
“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 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 thee 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 eat most anything — even 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” ball gowns for women of substance.