Bedtime stories.

Last night, being extremely bored, I asked Chris to read me a bedtime story from a children's book I picked up second-hand for a quarter. He read through the options and I chose Hansel and Gretel.

Now, bear in mind, that right before Chris got to bed, I took a sleeping pill. One of the remedies for the post-tap headache is lots of caffeine. So with two cups of coffee coursing through my veins, as well as the tenderness in my back, I knew I'd have a tough go with the whole sleep thing. So I settled in to listen to Chris read Hansel and Gretel, not realizing how loopy the sleeping pill had made me.

The story started off the way it always does, with the children's father all sad because there was not enough food in the larder for all four (the father, step-mother, and two children) to bite or sup. And, of course, the step-mother suggested that they leave the children out in the woods.

At that point, the story that I remembered (and I'd never read this particular version from this particular book) took a strange twist. Hansel got killed, somehow.

So this morning, I e-mailed Chris at work to ask him whether I remembered the strange version correctly. "Did Hansel die in that story you read me?"

He wrote back. "Yes. It was a bit of a twist on the traditional story. A vengeful and jealous God smote Hansel. But his step-mother reanimated him and then the story continued in the regular fashion."

Oh, alright. I accepted that I had come across a very strange version of Hansel and Gretel, and left it at that.

But in my stuck-in-bed boredom, I decided to read the story that I fell asleep during last night. And you know what? God did not smite anyone in this version of Hansel and Gretel! There was no magical reanimation! Chris took advantage of my drug-induced state and deviated from the story, adding religious elements and a not-so-nice God.

I should have him read me bedtime stories more often.