There once was a Donkey Buttboy Princess Wife. By Donkey I mean that he was by no means an exquisite creature. By Buttboy I mean that he was more scabbard than sword. By Princess I mean that he felt he ought to be waited upon. And by Wife I mean that he was, in fact, the one who did the waiting. And, dressed in sea-blue breeches and a sky-blue blouse, this Donkey Buttboy Princess Wife—let us call him D.B. or, better yet, Dib—was, of an evening, awaiting the return of his Prince.
As the last lazy ray of sunlight crawled out of the moat and began creeping toward the gently rolling horizon, there was a flurry of fanfare throughout the castle. The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis was raised, and a dark man and a white stallion charged in, followed shortly thereafter by a twinkling cloud of dust. The Prince got down off his horse and handed the reins to the valet, who bowed his head. Dib, who stood leaning against the archway leading into the grand foyer, one arm up over his head, caressing the smooth wood there, tossed his bangs off of his forehead and laid bare his homely features.
"Dib," came the Prince's commanding voice, "approach."
This Dib did with great eagerness, failing to remember, once again, the uneven surface of the cobblestone courtyard, and flailing. In regaining his balance, his arms shot out past the cuffs of his shirt, and the brown hair of his lower arms could be seen even by Cook, who was peeking out of the kitchen door beyond the grand foyer.
"Your forgiveness, Highness," quailed Dib. "In my excitement at your coming I tripped and slipped." He bent to his knees and struggled to pull his shirt sleeves down.
"When was it otherwise?" the Prince replied.
"Once, Highness," Dib began, his gaze focused on the polished bulbs of leather covering the Prince's toes, "once, on an evening very much like this, though, as I recall, there were fewer evening stars, so that your eyes twinkled ever so less, I, in my excitement, failed to observe a rather large cobblestone, and stumbled and tumbled." As he spoke, Dib noticed a spot on the Prince's boot where, as it was, the rather large space which ought to have been filled with the reflection of his rather large nose was covered instead by a rather large patch of matte black road dust. He spat, then with his sleeve rubbed the boot clean.
"Oh, Dib," the Prince whispered, and Dib felt the toes stir to life below his palm. "Come," the Prince commanded.
And with a blush the valet led away the white stallion, and Cook closed the wooden door to the kitchen. Dib walked into the grand foyer, through the great dining room and past the long table, which was set for two, and then down a long carpeted hallway, at the end of which was a curtain that he pushed aside. The Prince, who had followed him, took out a great tasseled key and unlocked a door, which he opened and then closed as soon as Dib had crept inside.
And when they were finished, Dib said, "Now would you brush my hair?"
But the Prince, who lay beside him, was quiet. And Dib pulled the ivory-handled brush through his own mussed hair.
"Well, whatever should I wear?" Dib asked, only in part to himself. "Would you lay out my bedclothes, whichever you feel prettiest?" Dib said, batting his eyelashes.
But the Prince seemed not to hear. And Dib picked for himself a matching pair of lavender undergarments.
"Would you," Dib began, "I mean, because I'm so comfortably arranged here," and he gestured at the generous pillows against which he was propped, "would you mind, so terribly, fetching me a little something to wet the whistle?"
But of course the Prince had not heard, as he was asleep, and here he let out a slight snuffle of a disturbed snore. Dib sighed and got up off of the bed, placing his feet in fluffy ermine slippers. He trotted down the hallway, through the dining room and past the long table, and through the grand foyer and into the kitchen, where he found in the ice box a bucket of milk, from which he drank hungrily. Then he returned to the bed chamber, making sure to close the door behind him, and crawled into bed next to the Prince, who was warm, but not too warm, to Dib's touch.
And in the morning Dib awoke to the valet drawing the curtains, and the Prince was gone, and the white stallion too, of course, and Dib fidgeted about in the pillows and blankets until he could stand it no longer, and then he laid out for himself an outfit in peach and tangerine. And then, being careful to close the door to the bed chamber behind him, he walked out through the hallway into the great dining room and ate the meal that Cook had prepared. And then, pushing the silver plate away, he got up and walked, with no particular rapidity, to the courtyard, where he leaned against the great oaken archway and looked toward the portcullis, which, of course, still shone with the light of afternoon behind it.
And Dib waited, and waited, and waited, and then, after what seemed a longer time than it actually was, but long after the Prince had returned that evening, and even the next, he lived happily ever after.
