(The Wolf, who would like to address several slanderous allegations)

Now I have been called “Big” and I have been called “Bad,” often in the same breath and with very little evidence provided for either claim.

I’d like to start off by sayin’ that size is a matter of perspective, and badness is often a matter of who gets to tell the story afterward.

On Reputation (Which Preceded Me)

By the time I ever set foot, or paw, as the case may be, on that particular stretch of forest, my reputation had already arrived.

Now I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to conduct yourself properly under the weight of a reputation, but let me tell you it puts a mighty strain on even the most well-intentioned interaction.

You clear your throat politely, and folks just assume you’re gettin’ ready to devour ’em.

The First Encounter

I met the girl on the path.

Red cloak.

Basket.

A certain… lack of situational awareness.

Now I approached in what I believed to be a courteous manner.

“Good afternoon,” I said.

She responded, which I natcherly took as encouragement.

We spoke.

Briefly.

I inquired as to her destination, which is a perfectly reasonable question in any community that values neighborly awareness.

She told me.

Freely.

Without hesitation.

Now I ask you, if a creature volunteers sensitive travel information to a stranger in the woods…

Who exactly is at fault for what happens next?

A Question of Efficiency

Now I will admit that I took a shortcut.

Not out of malice, but out of practicality.

If two parties are headed to the same location, it only makes sense for one of them to arrive first and prepare.

That’s not villainy.

What it is, is logistics.

The Grandmother Situation

I arrived at the house.

Knocked.

Was admitted.

Now I would like to address this portion carefully, as it tends to be where the narrative becomes… enthusiastic.

I didn’t “burst in.”

I didn’t “terrorize.”

I participated in what I believed to be a brief and unfortunate misunderstanding involvin’ identity, attire, and the limitations of poor eyesight.

Grandmothers, I have found, are not always equipped to verify details under pressure.

On Disguise

Now the matter of the nightgown has been discussed at great length.

Let me say this:

When one is attemptin’ to maintain continuity in a conversation, one must sometimes adopt the visual expectations of the listener.

That’s not deception, it’s accommodation.

The Famous Questions

The girl arrived.

Observed me.

And began a line of questioning that has since become… iconic.

“What big eyes you have.”
“What big ears you have.”

Now I answered each question honestly.

Transparency has always been important to me.

And yet, somehow, these answers have been framed as ominous rather than informative.

The Escalation (Which I Did Not Initiate)

Now, at a certain point, the conversation reached a natural conclusion.

Voices were raised.

Assumptions were made.

And before I could properly clarify the situation, a woodsman entered.

Unannounced.

With an axe.

Now I ask you: At what point does that become the primary concern?

Aftermath (Conveniently Edited)

The woodsman acted decisively.

The story was concluded.

And I, who had begun the day as a citizen mindin’ his own business, was transformed into a cautionary tale for generations.

Children were warned.

Mothers were alarmed.

And my side of the story was reduced to a growl and a set of teeth.

Closing Statement

Now I don’t deny that things… escalated.

But I would like to leave you with this thought:

If a man, or a wolf, cannot ask a few questions, take a practical route, and attempt to maintain conversational continuity without bein’ labeled “Big” and “Bad”…

Then perhaps the problem ain’t the wolf.

Perhaps…

It’s the storyteller.

And that, as near as I can tell it, is how a routine interaction in the woods became a lifelong reputation.