So, the professor was about. (I only go about sometimes, and very rarely.)
I was actually strolling in Prince Beef’s royal gardens. (I found the gate unlocked. Either somebody was expecting me, or someone didn’t care enough to stop me.)
The professor strolled, walked, and sprinted [professor’s never skip] throughout the gardens.
Then, unluckily for me, I ran into Prince Beef and his…lady-friend, Greta. They were sitting at a stone table of sorts.
Prince Beef seemed surprised. “P.VJ? What are you doing here?”
I knew I’d been caught, and lies never work in that sort of situation, so I told the truth—my professorish version, of course.
“Your gardener left the door open for me, I think.”
“Malediction!” Prince Beef almost shouted. “Your un-royal foot should not be walking on my garden path, should it? My wish is that you answer ‘no’, by the way.”
The professor wasn’t sure what to say.
Greta laughed. “Don’t be too harsh on him, my prince.”
Prince Beef smiled. “Very well. P.VJ, join us—now!”
I sat at the table.
“As I was saying,” the prince resumed, “my destiny is bound to be glorious, don’t you think so, P.VJ?”
“It depends,” I answered. “And I’m rather unsure on the prospect.”
The prince was angry. “What do you mean?!”
“Well, I know my destiny is bound to be dadblamery.”
The prince was tapping his foot angrily. “Don’t compare me to you—as is your wont. The differences between us are clear. I’m smart, you’re not. You dress oddly, and I don’t!”
“Prince Beef!” Greta didn’t seem to approve.
“That pink feather you have sticking out of your hat is a wonder,” I offered.
The prince stared at me for a moment. “You say the gardener let you in?”
I was caught. “I suppose so, yes. I mean, I think so. Don’t you think so?”
The prince waved his hand. “It’s not my job to think.”
“It’s not mine either,” I admitted.
“Everyone will have a great destiny,” Greta said. “All you have to do is get out there and define it a bit.”
“How so, dear?” the prince asked.
“The pink feather is a start,” I offered. “That defines a lot about a man.”
The prince turned to me. “How so, you scheming swine?”
I stood. “I really have to run.” And I started off down the path.
“Get back here!” the prince roared. “I’ll whip the gardener for letting you in!”
And as I left, I heard Daddy Salami singing as he skipped down the path–from the other way.
And just before I rounded the corner and was gone, I heard this:
THE PRINCE: “What are you?”
DADDY SALAMI: Hehaha! The gardener.
I left in a hurry then.