“Hm? But I don’t want to marry the prince.”

Marge, freshly-minted fairy godmother, couldn’t believe her ears. “You don’t want the prince?” She didn’t know what to do; the manual hadn’t covered something like this!

“No way. I’ve never met the man; why would I want to marry him? No, I’m after Thomas, the baker’s son from two streets over.”

Marge knew that bakery. Their jelly tarts were divine.