Sarah was a young lady who was not too old but not too young, she was, just right, or so she thought.
Each day Sarah would wake up and run to the mirror. She wanted to make sure she was still, just right.
She’d look at her eyelashes, comb her hair, and then smile, quite satisfied that there was no other girl who was, just right.
One morning, as Sarah was feeling ever so just right, she decided to go for a walk.
When she saw the neighborhood girls, she knew at once that they’d smile and greet her nicely, for they also knew that she was, just right.
“Oh, how are you Sarah?” One asked.
“I’m feeling wonderful!” Sarah replied, for she always felt wonderful, after all, she was, just right.
Sarah especially loved walking by a certain gentleman’s house in the neighborhood for each time she did, she was greeted in the nicest of ways, for he’d exclaim:
“There couldn’t be another girl in the whole world who is ever so just right as you are today.”
To this, she’d reply, “You’re so kind.” for she wanted always to appear, just right.
Each night, Sarah would look in the mirror, ever so happy that she was ever so just right. This night was no different. As she gazed into the mirror, she asked herself,
“How can the neighbor girls bear knowing that I’m ever so just right while they’re ever so pitiful.” And to this she congratulated herself thinking, “How just right I am to have such concern for my neighbors and friends. I do feel ever so sorry for those pitiful girls.” And Sarah thought herself ever so just right for feeling so.
Sarah fell asleep right away when her head hit the pillow because in every way, she was ever so just right.
The next morning, she got up, in her just right mood, and put on her just right clothing and walked along the same path that she always had. But this time, after the neighborhood girls greeted her, the neighbor who was the nicest of gentleman invited her into his house.
“Come in, come in, my ever so just right girl.” He said. “I have something special for you.”
Sarah knew it was wrong to visit neighbors, especially men, even the nicest ones, without asking her parents first, but since she was ever so just right, she simply gave herself permission. Now as she stepped through the door of this nicest of gentleman’s house, thump went something on her head. Then just as quickly as poor Sarah had been thumped, the neighborhood gentleman quickly plopped her into a huge pot of boiling stew. After the stew was quite nicely done, this nicest of neighborhood gentlemen stabbed in his fork, pulled out a piece of poor Sarah, and just before he took a bite of poor Sarah, he said,
“Just right.”
Copyright © 2006 Don Milton All Rights Reserved
