Sit you down, my darlings, while I spin you a tale.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear all the groans out there, and I see all the stuff being thrown at the computer screen. (grin)
I love puns. I love wordplay.
It’s one reason I like Shakespeare. It’s one of the goofy interplays between family members, someone starting the joke and others carrying it until we’ve exhausted all its punniness.
On a more serious note, but not too serious, the spinning wheel here is located inside a room set up as a bedchamber inside an old tavern from the 18th century. It’s a simple place, and not too large. I don’t expect that lodgers had much privacy there, nor diners much room. It’d make a nice-sized house for a person or two.
Sans the nightly crowd of ale-drinkers and gossips.
Just think: If all the spinning wheels had been destroyed, there’d be no tale of Sleeping Beauty.
Come to think on it, that might have been a good thing.
After all, it’s kinda shallow: Girl pricks finger, kingdom falls asleep, prince rides up and kisses what is essentially a corpse, and — all of a sudden — love blooms.
Nope. Not buyin’ it.
What if she’d beat him up for kissing a stranger, and been all warrior princess —
Wait. That’s an idea. (scribble, scribble, scribble)
Meantime, we do have Shrek. Beats Sleeping Beauty any day.