Once upon a time, there was a dragon named Horace. That would be me. I hatched out in the usual way. My mother tells this embarrassing story about how I was so eager to get out of the shell I bit her in the butinksi, but I refuse to believe that. Later on she took me to play groups, where I learned not to scorch the other little dragons, how to play on the swings without scraping my tail on the ground – basic stuff like that.
Then came school. Not to brag, but I was pretty good at school. Aced my History of Dragonology class. Dungeons and Maidens 101 was a breeze, and whoever said Psychology of Knights in Shining Armor was hard hadn’t studied the textbook. I had some trouble with the P.E. courses, though. Couldn’t project my flame more than a couple of feet, and when it came to the Claws versus Swords tournament – I’d rather not talk about it. Maybe I was a little bit of a nerd. Okay, a lot a nerd.
But who cares? Nerds get the good jobs, and I landed a primo one. I became Resident Dragon for a human family, where the flame thing and the fighting thing wasn’t an issue. Well, maybe dressing up for holidays was a little dorky, but look at it this way – whatever the occasion, I was the one announcing it. That’s power, right?
Life moved along at a pleasant pace, somewhat on the boring side, but I wasn’t complaining, and then, whamo! I found myself on a website promoting romance novels. Suddenly I was semi-famous. So I’m thinking . . . chicks! Chicks love romance. Maybe I’ll get . . . fan letters! A fan club! Babes dying to meet me!
Wouldn’t you know, the first person I heard from following my Internet debut was not some cutie wanting an autographed picture of yours truly. It was my old buddy, Baldwin. I should explain that Baldwin’s a frog, and we grew up in the same neighborhood.
He went to a different school, though, where they taught stuff like Intro to Princess Wooing. Baldwin goofed off all through school and didn’t learn the first thing about getting kissed so he could transform himself into a prince. He’ll probably always be a frog, but you have to like the guy, anyway. His heart’s in the right place.
So Baldwin called me on my cell. “Hey, buddy, you’re semi-famous!”
I tried to be humble. “I like to think I’ve made a slight impression on a few people.”
“People? Who cares about people? Are the chicks flocking around?”
“Uh, not quite yet, but I’m sure that –”
“See, I knew it! You need an agent, more exposure. You need image enhancement. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”
“Baldwin, I’m not sure if that’s in the budget.”
“Ah, screw the budget! Do you, or do you not, want to attract some chicks?”
“I would sort of like that, yeah.”
“I knew it! Fret no more, good buddy. Leave it to Baldwin.”
Before I could say anything else, he hung up. Baldwin is something of a loose cannon, so I wasn’t sure what I’d let myself in for. But I had to admit that having chicks flocking around sounded good. And I was curious to see how Baldwin had turned out. He’d said he’d be here in a jiffy. How long is a jiffy?