"Ah," she said, "I declare this porridge be a tad too hot." The young girl sighed. People were never able to really perfect the art of porridge these days. The oats had to be cooked just right, not a second fast nor a second slow. She would of thought, that an age-old tale would of taught people these days about the making of porridge. How atrocious she would think it if someone choose to settle on another's porridge because hers was too hot or cold.

"Someone," she called out to the empty room, "must come and do something about this porridge. It just won't do." She waited and, finding her request falling silent to the air, she declared she must do something about it herself.

"Where is the stove, I must make my own porridge."

She soon enough found the stove, but now came the difficulty of finding the oats to make the porridge. "There is some oats in this house, and I must find it." She tramped all across the house, looking under doors and into attics. Eventually she came to her starting spot at the table, sitting down again before the bowl of porridge that was just too hot. "Oh whatever shall I do, my poor stomach is rumbling, but it will not take anything but the finest porridge. She threw her arms out in despair, and in the process knocked something, sending oats sprawling across the table.

"Oh." And she picked up the box of oats that had been sitting at the table all along.

Now that she had the oats found she was soon able to get everything else ready and sure enough, a pot of oats was to be seen boiling over the stove.

"This pot," she said, "is just the right pot. It had been used enough so it knows what it is doing, but not enough to make it tarnished. Just right indeed."

The three bears, she decided, whilst waiting for the oats to become porridge, must not have been very smart, making all their porridges different temperatures. "It makes no sense at all!" She professed in despair. She wished very much to teach them how to make the right porridge.

About halfway through the cooking of the porridge, she daintily dipped her finger into the pot. "Ah it is going so nicely," she said with pleasure. "This porridge shall be just right." So she found herself a clean bowl and spoon with which to eat her porridge.

Just then she heard a knock on the door. "Who may that be?" She questioned. Leaving the porridge still on the stove, because you can never stop cooking halfway through, she went to answer the door. And there before her stood three bears.
"Oh my," she said, quite surprised at the appearance of the three animals. "Whatever are you doing here?"

She was not surprised when one of them answered, for they looked very much like intelligent bears.

"We've come for our porridge," one of them answered.
"Your porridge?" She inquired, clearly confused.

"Yes our porridge," one of the other bears answered, "our porridge in our house."

Now at this point it was dawning on the girl that she was in fact not in her own house, but just a guest. "Oh my," she declared, "where are my manners. Please do come in, a guest should always welcome an owner into their home."

So the three bears entered into their home.

"I'm Papa bear," the big one said upon entering.

"I'm Mama bear," the middle one said when they entered.

"I'm Baby bear," the small one said entering.

She placed the three bears at the table, and giving the porridge a quick stir, she got out three more bowls and spoons.

"It smells delicious," Baby bear said.
"Why thank you, I only make the best."

Soon enough the porridge was cooked and a quick taste informed her that it was just right. She spooned equal amounts in all four bowls and sat down at the table with the three bears.

They all tucked in.

"My," declared Papa bear, "this porridge is too cold."

"My," declared Mama bear, "this porridge is too hot."

"My," declared Baby bear, "I've never really liked porridge."

Now the poor girl was in airs, unsure of what to say to these reactions. She tasted the porridge again and found it just right. "There's nothing wrong with the porridge."

"It's far too cold."

"It's far too hot."

"I don't like porridge."

At this stage she was completely distressed. "But my porridge is always perfect, everyone thinks it is delectable."

"Has anyone else ever tried it before?" Asked Papa bear.

She thought back. "No, only me."

"Perhaps," said Mama bear kindly, "some people like different things than others."

The girl thought for a moment. "But my porridge is excellent, everyone should like it."

Mama bear tried again. "Everyone is different and because of that, everyone likes different things. There will be many that do thin your porridge is excellent but there will be some that don't, not because your porridge is bad, but because they like different things."

A light now dawned in her. "Oh my," she declared, "I do believe I understand."

The girl was very please that she now knew that the bears didn't like her porridge just because they liked different thine to her.

Suddenly then, a distressed noise came from upstairs. The three bears raced through the house, and the girl followed behind at a dainty pace. They came upon the room from where the noise seemed to be coming, and opening the door, found a disgruntled girl with golden curls sitting up in a small bed.
"What are you doing here?" Questioned Papa bear.

"What am I doing here!" She screeched quite unrighteously, "what is this girl doing here!" And she gestured at the small girl standing by the door.

"Whatever do you mean?" The girl replied, unsure of what was happening.

"You come in here on my tale and whilst I'm waiting for the bears to waltz up and fine me, you're down there making porridge!" She yelled, not calming down at all.

Now the girl knew just what to do. "Oh I am so terribly sorry, I've totally forgotten my manners, please come and join us with our porridge."

She seemed to very much perk up at this and getting out of the small bed, the five of them went downstairs.

Not long later, after each had ensured their own porridge was just right, and Goldilocks settling quite contentedly with what the girl had managed, and Baby bear with a sandwich, they were all sitting happily at the table.

"You know," Goldilocks stated, "this porridge is the best porridge I've ever eaten."

"It is," said Baby bear, not seeming to realise he in fact had a sandwich.
"I'm sorry I came in on your sandwich," the girl apologised, "I won't do it again."

"Oh but you must," replied Goldilocks, "you're porridge is just delightful and" she added, "the bears always managed to cook several hairs with theirs.

And they all laughed and tucked into their food, which for them, was just right.