She was not good at listening to advice. Not good at being told what to do, so contrary. She laughed when they told her to stay away from the woods, from the bears who made their home there. The bears that would blunder out from the undergrowth, their claws so sharp, their jaws so strong. It was no place for girls, they said, but what did they know?
The bears kept their cave immaculate, each building their bed to preference. The largest slept direct on the hard rock, his mate on a mound of soft leaves, the cub on a hard stone dressed with a leafy nest, making it just right. Wandering in the woods one day she stumbled on the bears’ home and made herself comfortable, but the bears returned early, stumbling in on her sleeping form. She woke with a fright and hitching her skirts, she ran.
There the story ends, but what became of the girl who refused to heed the warnings? How would she ever get used to the rules telling her to stay home when she had tasted the thrill of the deep, dark woods? Was there any hope for such a wayward girl? Better get smart, Goldilocks, choose wisely your path; safe is not always the right option.
Jill London 