On the couch

Long ago, a young, pretty girl was strolling through the forest. She was an oblivious sort of girl. She had lost track of the time; worse, she had lost the track, and did not know where she was. She was starting to feel hungry. She looked up to the sky for guidance; but the foliage was dense, and she could not see beyond it. 
Oh-so-hungry she saw, in a clearing, a little house with a thread of smoke curling up from its stony chimney. She tiptoed toward the house. She looked in through the window. The table was set for breakfast — but there were no breakfasters. The young girl made furtive glances through the window until she decided that truly no one was inside the house. It might be an enchanted house, she thought; perhaps that was why the food appeared so fresh. She climbed in through the window. 
On the table were three bowls of porridge: one large bowl, one medium-sized bowl, and a small one. There was no cutlery, but the girl had brought a spoon from Taco Bell …
(Karin chuckles.)
She tasted the porridge in the large bowl, but it was too hot. She then tasted the porridge in the medium-sized bowl. It was too cold. But the porridge in the small bowl was just the right temperature. The girl began to eat it. 
Little did she know, the house belonged to a family of three naked mole-rats
(This, Karin can’t handle. She laughs and laughs and buries her face in my chest.)
The mole-rats had gone out for a stroll in the forest. Which was unusual …
(Somehow, this is even funnier. Karin laughs and laughs.)

The story peters out. I can’t remember what Goldilocks or the bears or the mole-rats are supposed to have done. “Let’s write a novel,” I say to Karin. “Let’s take turns writing the chapters.” She declines.