The Three Little Pigs, Retold by Me

In the old story, three little pigs build houses of straw, sticks and bricks, and the big bad wolf blows down the first two. It’s a fine story. But nobody in it makes a single deal. So I’ve retold it, properly.

My Version

Once upon a time, three little pigs needed houses. So they called me.

The first pig wanted a house of straw. I said, “Straw is for hats.”

The second pig wanted a house of sticks. I said, “Sticks are for marshmallows.”

The third pig wanted a house of bricks. I said, “Now we’re talking.”

So I built them one brick house, very big, with three wings, one for each pig, and a swimming pool in the middle. The pigs loved it. They’d never had a pool.

The Wolf

Then one day, the big bad wolf came. He knocked on the door. “Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in,” he said.

The pigs said no, the way pigs always do in this story.

So he huffed, and he puffed. Nothing happened. He huffed again. Nothing at all. He sat down on the step, out of breath.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him. “I’m tired,” said the wolf. “And I have nowhere to live.”

So I added a fourth wing, and sold it to him. Now he’s the pigs’ neighbor. He brings them soup on Sundays, and nobody gets eaten. They all lived happily ever after, with a pool.