“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."
“Oh, that’s because you’re too young. There’s so much you have to know. Find a girl, settle down, and, if you want, you can marry. Look at me, I am bald, but I’m happy!”
“Wait,wait, wait...” Marcel interrupted, shaking his head. “Isn’t that a song from the last century?”
“Are you calling me old?” the genie retorted.
Marcel saw the genie’s eyes turn red. “Uh...no. How old are you? Not that I care, but you’re not exactly a spring chicken...”
“Watch your mouth, mortal, or I’ll go back into the Nutella jar and leave you without your second wish!”
“Okay. Take it easy...” Marcel replied, trying to clear the air. "So tell me, what team are you rooting for?”
“The Phoenix Suns. Why?”
“Just curious. And how are things going in the NBA?”
"Nothing’s been the same since Magic Johnson...” the genie replied with a touch of nostalgia. “Why do you ask? Are you into sports?”
“Kind of. Well, not really. A little table tennis every now and then...a bit of yo-yo...You know, nothing too strenuous.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. You’re a regular Usain Bolt.”
Marcel shrugged.
“So sports aren’t your strong suit. And how are you doing in terms of friends?”
“Uh...I’m too busy to worry about that,” Marcel replied, leaning his back against the fridge.
“Really? Busy how? Busy like ‘I don’t even have time to scratch myself,’ or like ‘I’m too busy trying to be busy’?”
“Well, I don’t know... somewhere in between.”
“Mind if I use your bathroom?” the genie asked. “It won’t take me long.”
“Yeah, please do. It’s the second door on the right.”
While the genie powdered his nose, Marcel couldn’t help but think about how lonely he’d been those past few years. His obsession with astrology had left him without a job and friends. He was pretty much an outsider in his own town.
Soon after, the genie appeared in the doorway. “Your towels are so soft! What softener do you use?” he asked, rubbing his hands.
“I don’t use any softener. In fact, I don’t even wash them. May I make my wish now?”
“Yeah, it’s about time,” the genie replied, sniffing his hands in disgust.
“Okay. I wish never to be alone again, and I wish to be blond, and I wish to have a six-pack.”
“But that’s three wishes!”
“Well, technically... it’s only one wish. But separated by commas.”
The genie blinked at him. “You’re pretty smart for a mortal...”
Marcel could only grin.
The genie raised his arms. “Okay then, bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, let’s get the boy what he wants too!”
A big puff of purple smoke enveloped Marcel, making him disappear. The genie shooed the smoke away, coughing. A six-pack of beer lay on the floor.
“Oh my goodness! What have I done!” he exclaimed, picking up the beer from the floor. “I’d better put him in the fridge...”
