Once upon a time there was a woman with frizzy hair that often was put into ponytails. Not that she didn't want to do her hair, but taking care of her 78 children often prevented her from doing simple tasks such as doing hair (or washing hair for that matter.) Also she didn't really have 78 kids, only 4, but sometimes they seem to multiply and get louder and more demanding.
One afternoon the woman caught her toddler writing all over the tile with a turquoise crayon, while simultaneously dripping snot from his ill little nose. In the background a chorus of coughing and sniffing came from the other children. A bill from an earlier chest x-ray was laying on the table next to a pile of unwashed pajamas and a to-do list that took up at least 148 pages (not double spaced, font point 10 - it was a long list.)
The woman wanted to scream and rip the frizzy ponytails from her head, except that she was too busy yawning and drinking large amounts of caffeine just to keep her eyelids open due to a complete lack in sleep for the past....oh, let's say 5 1/2 years. And just before she slumped onto the couch to push the crayola-ed floor from her mind the doorbell rang.
Outside the door was a shriveled old hag holding a basket of fruit and junk. The woman wished her husband had installed the peep hole, that he bought 2 years ago, so that she wouldn't have opened the door to the hag, but it was too late now.
"Hello, deary," said the hag as sweetly as her toothless mouth could manage, "I have a treat for you."
"I'll take a poison apple, thanks." said the woman, "and make sure to leave a note for husband saying not to kiss and wake me until after I've had a nice LONG nap."
The hag let out a small chuckle, "These apples are for someone else. I have something better for you, my sweet."
She handed the woman a little metal box with a shiny yellow button sticking out of the top. Go figure that the woman was given junk, when clearly her children supplied enough broken toys and bits of paper to fill their very own dump.
The woman wasn't going to except it, but the old hag threw the box at her and yelled, "The button is maaaAAAAagic!!" And then the hag took off running down the street on her wobbly wrinkled legs laughing like a maniac.
The frizzy haired woman locked her door quickly and felt like calling the police. Except that she couldn't find her phone. Possibly it had been replaced by a foam piece by some random ghost. So instead she put the box with the button out of small finger's reach and started making dinner. It felt like a mac and cheese night.
As the macaroni boiled the woman thought of what the magic button could do. She doubted it was magic at all, but sometimes old hags know what they're talking about, right?
Maybe the button would provide her with some magical cleaning powers. One click and the whole house (including those people in it) would be sparkling. And also her hair would be done. Because magic buttons should do that.
Or maybe it would stop time long enough for her to take a nap and watch last week's episode of Ugly Betty online. Stopping time would be good, and something a magic button could surely provide.
And quite possibly the button just let out fart noises when you pushed it. Maybe it would have a selection of over 250 different fart sounds that played at random. The woman's husband would love this little button. Maybe she could save it for a Valentine's day gift.
Once the kids were all seated and properly catapulting mac and cheese from their forks to the far kitchen wall, the woman decided to push the button. Just once. And only to see what it did. If it did anything.
She picked up the box, crossed her fingers for good luck and closed her eyes. The button made a small popping sound as it was pushed. Then the woman was spinning, the room was very bright and their seemed to be glitter everywhere around her.
It was over in a moment and left standing next to a box with a tempting yellow button was a hen wearing a tiara.
Which just goes to show that you should make your husband install that peep hole that he bought years ago so that you never open the door to an old crazy hag with a basket of junk.