"Oh, dearest!" cried Husband. "Where did you get the satabun?"

"Duh," said Wife, still pointing over the fence at the satabun garden.

Husband was not amused. "Now listen here," he said, "do you know how many croutons I have earned from the sale of all my many inventions?

"Zero," said Wife, who was in no mood to discuss business matters.

"Exactly," said Husband. "So how did you purchase the satabun?"

"I didn’t have to pay for it," panted Wife, who was now starting to shake, and to rattle, and to roll on the floor of their modest little hovel. "Woe is me," said Husband. "That first taste is always free."

"There’s only one cure for satabun fever," said Wife, who was now sweating like a piggy and looking like death warmed over.

"Your wish is my command," said Husband, feeling like the helpless fool—and something of an enabler—that he was.

"Then I command you!" said Wife. "Go fetch me that satabun!"

Husband dashed to the fence surrounding the satabun. Big fence, big challenge. But not too big for Husband, of course, because he spent a lot of time chopping wood, fetching pails of water, playing with his yo, and so on.

Nonetheless, here’s where things got a little hairy.

Actually, very hairy.

The neighbor lady who owned the satabun was, no big surprise here, a witch! Not only was she your garden variety witch—wicked, ugly, full of mean spirits, loaded with evil spells, and so on—she was extremely hairy!

"Nice fence climbing," said The Witch with a smile, or actually with a cackle since it was more of a witch kind of thing. "You’re buff. I like."

"You’re hairy. I like." said Husband. "In fact, some of my best friends are hairy." "Nice try," said The Witch with a smile, which was worse than her cackle because, for the past 500 years, she had missed her checkups with the Village Dentist. "But about the satabun? I don’t think so."

"Please let me have satabun," begged Husband. "Just a little taste?"

"That’s what they always say," said The Witch, examining her fingernails, which for the record were extremely dirty fingernails. "Matter of fact," she continued, "that’s what you always used to say." Alas, it was true. When it came to satabun, Husband had been there, done that. But that was then and this was now. And right or wrong, he was on a mission. "Wife has satabun fever," said Husband desperately, "and you know what they say about satabun fever."

"Know what they say about satabun fever?" said The Witch. "I wrote the book on satabun fever!" (Note: The Witch also had written the books on Flying Brooms, Warts, and Sylvester Stallone movies.)

"You are such a witch!" screamed Husband.

"Tell me something I don’t already know," said The Witch.

"Energy equals mass times acceleration," he said.

"Don’t change the subject," said The Witch. "How’re you fixed for croutons? For five croutons I could see my way clear to giving you two stalks of satabun."

"I’m broke," said Husband, "but I can chop wood, fetch pails of water, invent new stuff."

"Which reminds me," said The Witch, "how’re you coming along with that ‘yo’ thing?"

"Oh, I think I’m about half way there," said Husband. "How about the satabun?"

"Boring and redundant," said The Witch. "Five croutons, two stalks of satabun. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it. I got a broom to catch. "

"Woe is me," said Husband, which was like saying "Bummer."

Suddenly The Witch had a change of heart. Actually, The Witch didn’t have a change of heart—she’s a witch, right?—but she did have a change of plan. "So, and how’s the little wife?"

"We’re going to have a baby," said Husband. "Or at least we were!"

"A baby!" exclaimed The Witch, as if she were really and truly surprised. "You mean one of those tiny creatures that gurgles, sniffles, burps, says funny words, drinks everything possible and spits up?"

"That’s the general idea," said Husband.

"I’ll tell you the general idea, Buff Boy," said The Witch. "You give me the baby, free and clear, and I give you the satabun. What do you say?"

"What if I say no?" said Husband. "What if I just say NO?"

"Then I say no problem," said The Witch. "No problem for me!"

"Why don’t you get wed?" said Husband. "And then you can have your very own baby."

"Check it out," she said, leaning forward. "This face, do you see this face attracting a lot of knights in shining armor?"

"But this was going to be our very first baby!" sobbed Husband.

"You’ll have more babies," said The Witch. "Take my word for it."

"Your word?" he said. "Why should I take the word of a witch?"

"Good point," said The Witch. "Take this magic potion—a mix of love and respect—and you two can have all the babies you want. All the other babies, that is. We have a deal or what?"

"What about the satabun?" said Husband.

"I’ll give you something better than satabun," promised The Witch, and she meant it too. "Give me the baby, and I’ll remove the temptation. No lie. From this moment onward, for as long as you both shall live, Wife will never want satabun. Never. Not ever. End of story."