Baba-Yaga ain't got nothin' on me.

My Freshman Seminar class never fails to fascinate me.

The theme is Appalachian Folklore, and we're delving pretty deep into the culture of the South and how it shaped the country as a whole. Blah. Blah. Blah. But really, it's interesting...and made me want to buy a banjo.

That's not the point.

On Monday we found ourselves talking about Jack Tales. You know, Jack and the Beanstalk (sidenote: there's a coffee shop called the BeansTalk on King Street and tiny women with short haircuts and baggy plaid shirts are always coming and going...), Jack and the Dentist's Daughter, Jack and the Handmaid, and so on and so forth. The basis of these stories is that a dimwit usually stumbles upon fortune in groups of three and is rewarded with a hot wife or a magical flute. So predictable.

Somehow, though, we wound up on the subject of Hansel and Gretel. I think it's because we were talking about archetypal characters and someone mentioned a witch. And that, obviously, leads to Hansel and Gretel. It's all so clear.

That's not the point.

Well, kind of.

But our teacher mentioned that some scholars ("scholars" being those well-versed in telling tall-tales) think that Hansel and Gretel was told to young children to help them be weaned off breast-feeding. I hate that word. Breast. It just looks gross.

Sorry.

Weaning. We all looked at each other and rolled our eyes. It just didn't seem like a logical explanation. I mean, everyone knows that Hansel and Gretel is about not accepting candy from strangers. If you do, you'll be stuck in a bird cage while the oven's firing up in the back room. It's the blatant moral of the story. Breast-feeding? Give me a break.

The kid next to me, however, couldn't let it go. Logan. Poor, pasty, dark-haired Logan. I don't give him enough credit. He's a nice guy, just a bit on the strange side. He's also incredibly intelligent and well-read. But that doesn't mean he isn't socially unaware. Or awkward. But look who's talking.

We had already moved to the next topic of discussion when he raised his hand.

"Yes, Logan?"

"I have a question."

"..."

"I would just like to know where this Freudian idea fits in with our discussion."

"Freudian idea?"

"Yeah, you know. With children always longing for their mother's breasts..."

And I swear he leaned a little closer to me while a thin, grotesque smile spread across his lips.

"Or as I like to call them, 'sources of plenty'."