Mez-ness - Thank you, Dued x

1) If you planted magic beans, where would you want the beanstalk to lead to?
I suppose I would be happy if one of them grew! I am the kiss of death to plantlife. Nothing grows if I have anything to do with it. Except grapes. I have an amazing success with grape vines and my secret? It's called "leave them alone and let them get on with it." Everyone is amazed that in the last decade of living in the hovel (most likely they are first and foremost amazed that it is still in its precarious hovelesque state...), I haven't killed the vines at the bottom of the wildernessfieldgarden. Year after year, they say that if you don't look after your vines, you'll get no grapes...I only get grapes because I don't look after them. Hmmm, perhaps I should dedicate more care and attention to the weeds...
But back to the beans. Assuming the beanstalk grew - and being magic, one might suppose it ought to - would it be a one-off beanstalk thing? Could there be a repeat performance? Daily stalkage? Restricted access? Would it be okay if there were no disturbances to giants and no stalks would have to be cut down as a last-ditch means of escape? Would other people come swarming to the hovel to avail of beanstalk tours? Golden egg hunts? Now there's a thought. It could turn into a lucrative concern, but all those people, I wouldn't like that. Not a bit. And the hovel could no way double up as a tea room...
Not only this, but there are many things that I cannot do. Climbing up stuff is one of those things: I'd need a ladder. I don't like heights. I get kneewobble when standing on the table to change a lightbulb and once even had to be talked down by The Child, aged 3. Come to think of it I don't think I'd like a magic beanstalk, given my lack of beanstalk receptive qualities. Now, if you were offering me a magic carpet or a TARDIS...

2) Why does no-one ever feel sorry for the poor wolf?
Ahem. I do. I always do. I did even when small and the goats filled the poor wolf's belly with stones and he drowned, and the wicked woodcutter sliced him open to let that daft old granny out. And what of the poor wolf savagely boiled to death by the three little pigs who would probably only have ended up as bacon sarnies anyway? (oh, bacon sarnies - the one thing that makes me regret vegetarianism, along with my granddad's spag bol).
I suppose, thinking about it, that the wolf is some kind of cautionary element: stray off the path and the wolf will get you; do the sensible thing or you will be devoured; moral rectitude and simply being in the right will prevail and triumph over the wicked (see pigs and goats)..Well bah to that! Fairy stories, innit.
Does it get better as we get older? Wolves get bad press: predatory men are described as wolves, portrayed as wolves, they even whistle like wolves (WTF?!), but what has any of that got to do with the poor old wolf? And please don't get me onto the subject of romanticised werewolves in teen fiction and soppy films. Yes, I have seen Twilight The First. No, I don't wish to talk about it. We could talk about The Company Of Wolves though; I loved that film (and the wolf - cor, phew! *mops brow* - is it hot in here, or is it me?)...
Yes, I always felt sorry for the wolf and I am glad to say, that I am not alone.
At least not in some of the books I used to read to The Child, who also loves wolves and is determined that as soon as the dogs have died, she is getting her very own one (this).
We have real wolves here and I feel very sorry for them: they are far outnumbered by wicked huntsmen and little pigs... (wolf)

3) Slippers made of glass!? Practical? I think not!
They weren't slippers though, were they? They were "pumps" (I hate that word, irrationally, but not as much as the abbreviated form of thank you, which makes my teeth clench together and my jaw lock, like someone who forgot to get their tetanus booster- I can't even write it!), if you look at the Disney version (no, I don't rate the dress very highly, either) and whatever the modern lady is wearing these days, I much prefer boots. With heels. And glass boots, pleasingly kinky as they might possibly be for people of that ilk (glass not being my thing, I can only invoke rule 34 in my defence), would not only be very uncomfortable on the calf, they'd be downright dangerous in terms of shard hazard and splinterage...
Cinders

4) I'd rather have mice than footmen, wouldn't you?
Footmen could be useful. For fetching, carrying, and a bit of cleaning on the side. Mice, on the other hand, do none of those things; they leave mouse poo in cupboards and chew through boxes and can give diseases to your pets and children. Then they multiply and start to devour the house, especially the wiring, making your broadband or even your pc unusable... Finding a dead one in the washing machine with. the. washing. was not one of my finer moments...*shudder* nor was having them scamper round the kitchen as if they owned the place. A footman scampering round the kitchen, I can deal with... Now I have the Furry Death Squad and no mice - apart from the occasional corpse outside the front door.
(Not a typical scene at the hovel, but one we hovelites enjoy nonetheless)

5) Which of the inevitable Three Brothers would you be?
The impoverished one that no one wanted, forced to wander about until I found an intelligent cat...
(fairytales)