Dear Lady Fluffy Beaver
Help me! Help me please! I’ve been cruelly time-travelled back to medieval Scotland and I’m currently surrounded by a lot of big burly and rather stinky men wearing half-cured animal skins. The weather is freezing, there’s no soap in sight and oh-my-god, my hair is a nightmare. How the hell did women get all those long luxurious locks the romance novels I used to read always talk about? It’s all I can presently do to keep the lice away! Get me out of here with your magical beaver powers, Lady Fluffy Beaver. Please!
Trapped In Julie Garwood Land
You went and rubbed a lamp didn’t you? Admit it, you didn’t really get cruelly time travelled at all. You met some wish-giving dude wearing some kind of yoga pant getup and asked him to shoot you back through time to medieval Scotland. Didn’t you?
Well, I’ve got news for you my little lice-ridden darling. You’ve gone to the WRONG DIMENSION. If you don’t specify you want romance history instead of REAL history, this is where you end up. I bet those blankets you’re trying to sleep on at night are scratchy. And the fact they haven’t invented working chimneys yet is probably a bit of a gyp as well. And your hair? I wouldn’t really worry too much about it. You’ll have to cut it all off the next time you get a cold anyway to let the evil out. Or it might just fall out.
Okay, maybe I’m being too horrible. We beavers do get our fur ruffled at the mere mention of lice.
Here, what I’ll do is send you a new little lamp containing another nice buff gentleman in yoga pants. Don’t mind his protruding two front teeth. Ignacio is a were-beaver but he’s still a genie. Now, this time, specify the right damn fantasy historical dimension you want or you’ll have to face your lice-ridden doom!
Yours in temperamental time-travelling fluffiness,