The Enchanted Soup Machine: A Magical, Funny Fairy Tale

Once upon a whimsical time, in a village no bigger than a sneeze on a map, lived a bright young girl named Mabel and her equally delightful mother—also named Mabel. To avoid a lifetime of confusion, everyone simply referred to them as Mabel and Mom. Simple enough? Probably not, but let’s carry on.

Mabel and Mom were content in their cozy cottage, though they didn’t have much to their name except love, laughter, and a surprising collection of handcrafted figurines. Mom, you see, was an artist of tiny marvels. She made collectible dolls, delicate Civil War chess pieces, and big-eyed baby statues that made even the sternest of souls go, “Aww!”

One bright morning, Mabel set off to the market, carrying a box of these treasures in hopes of selling them for some much-needed money. She strolled through the woods, humming a tune, when suddenly—“HOWDY!”—an old woman sprang out from behind a tree, nearly scaring Mabel out of her boots.

In her fright, Mabel dropped the box of figurines, and they smashed into four thousand and sixty-six jagged pieces across the forest floor.

“Oh my stars! I’m terribly sorry,” the old woman gasped, seeing the disaster she’d caused.

Mabel sighed, her heart heavy. “Now I’ve got nothing to sell. Mom and I won’t have enough money for food.”

The old woman rummaged through the broken figurines until she plucked out one—miraculously intact. “Well, this one’s still perfect! I’ll buy it from you.”

“That’s kind, but it won’t be enough,” Mabel said. “We can’t buy groceries with $4.99 and tax.”

The old woman tapped her chin. “I suppose money isn’t enough then. Hmm, aha!” From a pocket seemingly deeper than the ocean, she pulled out a strange, shiny food processor.

“But this isn’t just any food processor,” she declared. “It’s magical! This little beauty makes Yummy Happy Good Time Soup—the tastiest soup in all the lands.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Yummy Happy Good Time Soup?”

“You betcha. Watch!” She produced a bowl from another pocket, placed it under the processor, and chanted:

“Yummy Happy Good Time Soup,
Keep on cookin’ till you’re pooped!”

With a whirl of gears, the machine poured thick, creamy soup into the bowl. The aroma alone made Mabel’s stomach growl.

“Okay, that’s impressive!” Mabel admitted.

“To stop it, just say this rhyme:

‘Yummy Happy Good Time Soup,
One more bite and my tummy will droop!’”

Mabel eagerly accepted the gift. “Thank you! What’s your name, by the way?”

“Oh, I’m just a crazy old witch who lives in these woods—but you can call me Mabel.”

“Wait… that’s my name! And my Mom’s!”

“Well, isn’t that a hoot?” the witch chuckled. “Small world! Farewell, Mabel!” And she vanished into the trees.

Mabel rushed home and showed Mom the enchanted processor. Together, they tried the rhyme, and soon both were enjoying the most delicious soup they’d ever tasted. From that day forward, Mabel and Mom never knew hunger again.

A year passed, and Mabel, now of courting age, had taken to going on evening strolls with a suitor. One night, while she was out, Mom found herself a bit peckish. She’d seen Mabel use the processor countless times—how hard could it be?

“Let’s see… Super Duper Happy Soup… Gooey Ooey Magic…” she mumbled, mixing nonsense with memory. “Oh! Yummy Happy Good Time Soup… Keep on cookin’ till you’re pooped! Got it!”

Sure enough, the machine started churning out soup. But when the bowl was full, Mom couldn’t remember the rhyme to stop it.

“Uh… Happy Tummy Droopy… No, no… One More Spoon and I’m Fulloon… Drat!”

The soup kept coming—overflowing the bowl, then the table, and onto the floor. Soon, the kitchen was a swamp of soup! Mom climbed onto the table as the waves of broth surrounded her like a moat.

When Mabel returned home, she opened the front door—and a tsunami of soup spilled into the street! Wading through the warm, delicious flood, Mabel reached the machine and shouted:

“Yummy Happy Good Time Soup,
One more bite and my tummy will droop!”

At last, the processor ceased.

Their house, however, was a soggy mess. Fortunately, there was a phone number etched on the processor:

“Questions, Comments, or Catastrophes? Call Crazy Old Witch Products.”

Without hesitation, Mabel dialed.

“Crazy Old Witch Products, Mabel speaking!”

“Mabel? It’s Mabel.”

“Oh, hi Mabel! How’s Mabel?”

“Mabel’s good, Mabel. But we have a soup problem.”

Mabel explained the situation, and the witch cheerfully promised, “Hang tight! A representative is en route.”

Two seconds later—“HOWDY!”—the witch appeared at their door.

“Let’s tidy this up!” she declared. She waved her magic shoe (her wand was misplaced but her left shoe did the trick), and—POOF!—the house was restored, the soup was gone, save for three steaming bowls.

The three Mabels—Mabel, Mom, and Witch Mabel—sat down to enjoy supper together. And from that day forward, the rhyme was engraved on the food processor for safety.

And thus, for no particular reason except that it was charming, Mabel, Mabel, and Mabel lived happily ever after.

✅ Moral of the Story

Always remember the magic words! And when in doubt, keep the instruction manual—or better yet, the hotline number—nearby.