“Hell, no! Who do you think I am, Liam Neeson?”

Marcel nodded. “Now that you mention it... there’s a certain resemblance.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” the genie replied, giving his dripping-Nutella finger a long lick. “But let’s get down to business.”

“Okay, what if my second wish was for you to grant me a third wish?” Marcel asked with a smart look on his face.

The genie gave him a grin and pulled a calculator out of his pocket. “Bear with me, smart guy,” he replied as he deftly tapped on it.

Marcel couldn’t contain his curiosity. “What’s with the calculator?”

The genie took a pencil from his back pocket and stuck it behind his ear. “Third wishes come with a 10.25% sales tax.”

“10.25% sales tax on what?” Marcel questioned.

“On your first wish. Is there a problem?” he asked sternly, staring at him over his magnifying glasses.

“Fine, you know what? Forget the third wish.”

The genie chuckled. “Really? How come? Do you feel spoiled by choice? Poor thing...” he replied, looking at Marcel with an appraising eye.

Marcel held his tongue. The genie was getting on his nerves, but he still had one wish left and didn’t want to waste it.

“Do you mind if I grab something to eat?” he asked, jumping off the counter and opening the fridge to peer inside. “What’s all this junk? Isn’t there anything that’s not green?”

Marcel tried to ignore the genie’s ramblings and focus on his last wish.

“If I were you, I’d ask for world peace,” the genie suggested, munching on a carrot. “People think it’s a wishy-washy wish, but it’s not.”

“Could you do that?” Marcel asked.

“Oh, yeah. But honestly, I don’t think it would last long. You mortals are the only animals that stumble over the same stone twice, or thrice, or even more,” the genie replied, dipping the carrot into the Nutella jar.

Marcel felt more and more hesitant. The genie was putting a lot of pressure on him, and then there was the matter about the blood moon.

The genie closed the fridge and approached him. “Listen,” he said, looping his arm around Marcel’s shoulders. “You don’t want to let this go by without doing something big, do you? But you have one hell of a lot to choose from. It’s called the paradox of choice. Say it with me: pa-ra-dox-of-choice.”

Marcel stepped forward to shake off the genie’s arm and tried to change the subject. “Do you have any idea what’s coming down the pike?”

“No. Mother’s Day maybe?” he asked.

Marcel shook his head.

“No? Worse?”

Marcel nodded. “Much worse.”

“Oh...come what may, it can’t be that bad, silly goose. But tell me, what’s eating at you?”

Marcel went to the window and looked at the sky. “There’s going to be a blood moon tonight,” he said, sounding uneasy.

“So what? Are you afraid that some kind of cosmic whatchamacallit is going to mess things up?” the genie chuckled.

“Well, duh! Everyone knows that these events are ominous!”

“Ominous? Are you having a mental break-down or something? What are you, an astrology geek?”

Marcel snapped. “Are you going to help or not?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Help? That’s like getting a freaking shrink to fix your sink! What the heck’s wrong with you? Don’t get caught up in a blatant, mystical crock of nonsense!”

He glared at the genie.

“Step outside with me for a sec,” the genie asked as he opened the balcony door. “Look at the sky,” he said firmly. “Do you see anything strange? Is the moon askew or upside down? Any cosmic vampires flying around or something?”

Marcel shook his head, but he was still skeptical.

“What you’re afraid of doesn’t exist! At worst, there’ll be some scattering of blue light, leaving reddish and orangish tints with some reflections, refractions, and refluctions!”

Marcel looked the genie in the eye. “I didn’t get a word of what you just said.”