He was a great, green slimy monster who lived in a cave by the sea. It was a pleasant enough cave, full of light from holes in the roof and cooled by rising tides. He lived on fish, and hated his own cooking. It was fish to eat, morning, noon and night.
He began to wish for a wife. His dreams were filled with wifely meals of chicken and lamb and vegetables. He knew he would be happy with a wife to cook for him. He didn’t care what she looked like. And, in truth, in his daydreams never saw her face. Just the food. Which wasn’t fish.
He did have one requirement beyond cooking, though. This wife must be young. He didn’t know how old he was, but knew he’d been around for centuries. After all the years of wanting a wife, he didn’t want an old one he’d have to replace soon.
The green monster yearned for a wife, mumbled about the food she’d cook, sighed at the sight of every fish he cooked for himself.
Then one day there was a miracle–a very young female walked into his hazy-lighted chamber just as he was washing a fish for supper. He grew very excited. He didn’t know how she might cook, but a wife was still good.
She was tiny, however. He could pick her up with one hand and she was smaller than the fish he’d caught that afternoon. Her voice was squeaky, too, but he was still happy to see her.
He enjoyed his supper that night. It wasn’t fish.