Once upon a time, there was a land known far and wide for its outlet mall and its Ikea, and for excessively long traffic lights at (seemingly minor) intersections. In this land lived an itinerant soldier and his wife.
Many years a go, this couple welcomed two bouncing baby boys, and named them Thing One and Thing Two. These boys were a treasure and a joy, and shared their enthusiasm for all things Nerf and Bob the Builder. [They were also really loud, but fairy tales never mention that, do they?]
Time passed and the boys grew, and grew, and grew. They ate, oh they ate. They devoured fridges full of milk, and ham sandwiches, and the leftovers of a weird microwaved Velveeta-and-sausage concoction, and the pie that Mom was saving for herself because she's really had a crappy day, okay?!?! And when the fridge was empty, they cried to their mother, often after her bedtime, "Oh, dear Mother! [the "dear," has been added retroactively by said mother.] "We are famished! What will you cook for us?" It was as though their bellies could never be filled. I mean, Xbox is hard work, you know?
When the boys were younger, the mother would grumble [because that's how she rolls] and haul herself out of bed to make a delicious meal that usually involved toast and a lot of peanut butter. As the Things became taller than the mother, their pleas became louder.
The mother realized that she was making snacks that the Things were more than capable of making for themselves. (Okay, they SHOULD have been capable of doing it.) “But seriously," thought the mother, "this child is 6 foot 2 and he can't make himself a sandwich? Fie upon this situation!" [she might also have uttered other words, not suitable for fairy tales.]
So the mother and the father decided to teach their cherubic, freakishly tall progeny how to fend for themselves (sort of) in a kitchen. After many long days, the boys actually absorbed some of the most rudimentary lessons. Random pieces of fruit were chopped (halfheartedly). Cans of soup were opened (aggressively). Ham and cheese were melted together (excessively).
Eldest Thing can actually scramble an egg now and has only nearly started one fire. While boiling water for rice. [I will give you a moment to absorb that.] Thing Two, the Younger, has ventured into crepe- and quesadilla-making territory. He is a fan of the high-heat-with-no-fan method of cooking, which provides the family with all kinds of opportunities to test the smoke alarm and to see how fast they can get all the first floor windows open.
The only problem, besides, you know, the almost-fires, is that neither son of this long-suffering couple can remember to clean up a single dish when they are done with their culinary masterpieces. It is nearly time for Eldest Thing to venture out into the world on his own (God willing and the creek don't rise), and yet he cannot remember to rinse out his nasty protein shake containers for days.
What shall become of them? Is there a pumpkin that can magically be turned into a kitchen cleaning system? A size 12.5 glass slipper that will render the wearer instantly able to wipe off a countertop? Maybe a dragon who could magically disinfect the mess with a well-placed ”Drakarys” command?
Oh wait, that's more fire. Never mind.
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