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Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a king living happily with his queen and two princesses. All was well in this particular kingdom until one evening. The king was putting the final touches on some speech or declaration and was just preparing to retire to the royal bedchamber when the queen came with news.

“Our daughter, the eldest princess, has informed me that she has a lump, and it pains her.”

The king’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s worrying her,” the queen continued. “It is not like her to welcome the doctor, but tonight she’s asked me to make an appointment with the royal physician. You know–and since her nanny just passed of cancer–this lump doth make her nervous.”

The king’s lips pursed but he nodded slowly.

“So I was wondering,” she went on, “if you might learn what you can. You know, to reassure her.”

This particular king was not easily ruffled. He was not a dramatic king. The day had been long and he was weary. So naturally, his first thought, upon hearing this news, was that lumps of this type, for young princesses of this age, are only natural. Certainly no need to change plans at such a late hour. No need to overly concern himself. Indeed, no need to get his royal undies in a bunch.

But then he considered.

“How many lumps did you say?” he asked the queen.

“One.” She said.

“And how big is it?”

“She says it is about the size of a marble.”

“And when did she notice thus?” the king asked.

“About three days ago, I think.” She said. “But she is only just sharing her discovery tonight.”

“My dear queen, admittedly by virtue of my very nature I know not of such things,” said the king. “Indeed, is it time? This seems soon. Do you remember thus of your own childhood?”

“Oh yes,” replied the queen. “It is very much time. I, myself, began even earlier. However, I do not recall thus of my own childhood. I do not remember small lumps”

“Hmmm. And just one,” said the king. “This doth seem odd. My understanding is that two lumps ought be apparent–if any. Though, as I said, I speak only logically. It is not inconceivable, I suppose, that there be only one lump at this time, and then another to follow. Do you think thus my wife?”

“Yes, I do agree,” replied the queen. “Like I said, I remember little from my own childhood–for I was clumsy and fell many times on my noggin–but what you say drips with wisdom, my king—as usual.”

“Yet something doth still trouble me,” the king continued. “Please. You may retire, my dear. I will continue look into this matter tonight.”

“Thank you, husband,” the queen said. “As I said, the lump is of some irritation to her. And with her loss and grief so recent–this doth unnerve her–though she is quick to deny it.

“Understandably so,” the king said. “But fear not. Sleep well tonight, my queen, and dream pleasantly. For I will bring assuring news by dawn.”

The queen stepped forward and kissed the king softly on the lips for she knew he was weary.

Yet he also knew she would not bother him with trifles.

So he sat back down at the royal desk, clapped his hands and sent his fastest messenger for his wisest of all counselors—Sir Google.

The king understood that Sir Google, was, by himself, no wizard. But the man had an uncanny knack for making friends. His contacts ran far beyond this kingdom into strange and mysterious lands.

After a brief wait, Sir Google arrived and patiently heard the king’s story. When the king was finished, Sir Google, as was his custom, asked to be excused while he sent his own messengers (who were far stronger and faster than the king’s own) in whatever direction he bid.

After seeing them on their way, Sir Google returned and waited with the king. They reminisced about questions and answers they had need of in the past. Indeed many seemed trivial now. The king offered Sir Google a bologna sandwich, which the wise Sir Google accepted—for it is well known that the king was very proud of the herd of wild bologna he had captured, domesticated, and was now raising in the royal stables.

As the king and Sir Google enjoyed this treat, they discussed the ridiculous spelling of bologna, and the king was just considering a royal decree to change the spelling when one of Sir Google’s messengers, panting, gaging (because he hated the smell of bologna) and sweating, returned, bent, and whispered in his ear.

“Dear king, you were wise to call on me,” said Sir Google after he thanked his messenger and bid him good-night. “For I have news from the land of Teen Health FX. As it turns out, there are many princesses in that land who have suffered and worried just as your own daughter. But we have learned in the land of Teen Health FX, that this is nothing to concern ourselves over. Good king, your first instincts were correct. This is a perfectly normal thing for a young girl such as your princess. My messenger has confirmed thus with the king and queen of Teen Health FX.”

The king grinned and rose, thanking Sir Google by offering him more horseradish for his sandwich.

“Thank you but no,” said Sir Google, raising his hand. “Is there anything else I can do for you this evening, my good and wise king?”

“No,” said the king. “But as compensation, won’t you please accept my finest Bologna stud for your own stables? He produces remarkable offspring.”

“Sir Google smiled, “Good king, you should understand by now that my knowing you will rest well tonight and your beautiful queen and daughter will worry no more is all the payment I require.”

The king nodded. He knew. And he was grateful—not only for the peace of mind, but for also being able to keep the mighty Bologna stud he had worked so hard to capture and breed.

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