My Weekend at Goldilocks Motel

Once upon a timeless fairytale, I spent a weekend at Goldilocks Motel; Friday through Sunday.  To relax, to escape my heartache or some shit.  I thought, what the hell, the reviews are decent.  Some rated it five stars, some rated it three stars, and some rated it one-star.  And I was just feeling lucky.

My first night at Goldilocks Motel, I walked into my room, unpacked and shit, noticing three beds in my room: a little one, a big one, and a medium one.  How strange, I mused, considering I was the only one in the room.  I tried the little bed first; it was made of sweetness and love.  Or, more literally, feathers and sugar.  But that did not do at all!  My legs were too big, and it was too cosy.

Next I tried the bigger bed, thinking my legs would fit; it was made out of anger and resentment.  Or, more literally, needles and bricks.  But that bed did not do, either!  The needles were too sharp, and it was too uncomfortable.

I sighed, slipping into the middle bed.  This one was normal, made of everything a bed should be.  I fell asleep like a baby.  Halfway through the night, the bed exploded.  Oh well, I thought, Saturday morning.

Next I went to breakfast; actually, I ordered room service.  Same damn thing, if you ask me.  On their mistake, they gave me three meals: three soups.  At first, not feeling hungry, I sipped the small soup.  Eww, I spit out the sewage-flavoured soup.

Okay, maybe the bigger one will taste better, I assumed, for some odd reason.  Too damn hot!  My burning tongue lasted five minutes, at least.

After another sigh, I tried the middle soup.  Hmm, not bad...  A few more sips of the delicious broth, I finally found the perfect one.  Then, clumsy me, I spilt it all over the damn floor.

Skip forward some more meaningless mediocrity.  This scene is now Sunday, my last day at Goldilocks Motel.  After I had packed and left, I waited outside for a taxi.  Three cabs came: the first one, small with a young woman driver; the last, big with a slobby driver who appeared slightly intoxicated; the middle, average size with an average driver.  With my recent experiences, I chose the middle driver first.  As if I hadn't learnt my lesson already...

All was well on the drive to the airport; no crashes, or anything.  Then a plane flew straight into the taxicab, where I bled to death.