A long, long time ago, Lord Kensington and Lady Buttermilk met on a beautiful spring day. Chirping birds showered them in song. The sun sprayed them in brilliant diamonds. And the air kissed their blushed cheeks. Never in the history of time had a couple been more in love than this. What of Romeo and Juliet, you may ask? Friends in comparison. Bella Swan and Edward Cullen? Mere strangers.
After many years of courting, they married. The entire kingdom attended the extravagant ceremony. The Lady’s cake was seventeen stories high, a replica of the Lord’s castle, studded in precious gems and spring flowers, “Like the ones in bloom on the day we met,” she had told the baker. Her seamstress layered lace upon chiffon to create an immaculate gown detailed with eloquent beadwork and handspun silk. Her dress far surpassed the rags procured by the Fairy Godmother for Cinderella.
At the reception, Lord Kensington provided banquet platters filled with the cylindrical meat he had patented and built his fortune upon; Dogs of Heat, named after the way his dachshund looked when he stretched in the summer sun. But Lady Buttermilk had a surprise for her new husband. She personally had toiled for months in the kitchen kneading elongated pastry dough into lengthened bread, which she called buns, to hold the Lord’s meat. “This way,” she told Lord Kensington, “the people will no longer scorch their bare hands on your Dogs of Heat.”
The combination was magnanimous, an overnight sensation, and soon every village marketplace sold Dogs of Heat and buns in separate packages containing ten of each. “One for each of the ten Kensington Lords, in which my lineage is rooted,” Lord Kensington explained.
“Or perhaps, my Lord,” Lady Buttermilk interjected, “it will be one for each of the ten sons I will bare for your Lordship.”
Lord Kensington seemed troubled after this, although the Kingdom flourished financially. The news quickly spread across the land and to the four corners of the earth that Lord Kensington’s Dogs of Heat and Lady Buttermilk’s buns were the greatest combination since red wine and oranges.
Merchants arrived by foot, horseback, and sea to purchase packages to carry back to their land, and every one received equally paired sacks of ten Dogs of Heat and ten buns to be sure no one scorched their bare hands while eating.
One day, on a routine weekend trip to visit the various farmlands providing Lady Buttermilk with flour, sugar, and the other ingredients she used to bake buns, she was forced to return home suddenly after a peasant woman gave her an apple, which brought forth food poisoning.
Upon her early return, Lady Buttermilk caught Lord Kensington in the carnal act with the Lady’s own handmade, the curvaceous and devious Staabs Backsalot. A brutal divorce followed, and the Lady was able to not only retain ownership of her patent on buns, but she also managed to gain legal possession of his Lordship’s Dogs of Heat, which she quickly shortened to Hot Dogs to avoid brand confusion. She changed the packaging, placing ten Hot Dogs in a case, but only eight buns per bag, leaving everyone who purchased a set with two extra Hot Dogs that would scorch their bare hands.
And to this day, hot dogs and buns are sold in mismatched numbers, leaving two extra dogs every time.
And the moral of the story is don’t screw with the woman who holds your buns, or you’ll be left holding your wiener in your bare hands.