Nicolas glared up at the genie that hovered above him wrapped in fine silks. A cloud of blue smoke enwreathed the pudgy face of this magical being who grinned smugly. Nicolas looked down again at the oil lamp in his hands.

"Did I get the wrong one? Is there another one around here?"

"No. Sorry, Bub. I'm the only genie that can be summoned around these parts."

"And why are you issuing me three excuses instead of three wishes? I thought three wishes were industry standard."

"Sorry, mate. Budget cuts you know. Not my doing. These came straight down from upper management. But the good news is that people will believe your excuses 100%."

Nicolas stood still, so angry he couldn't speak. The gene's expression turned to one of hurt.

"I...I'm sorry," stammered the genie starting to weep. "I'm on your side. I promise. This switch from wishes to excuses isn't my fault, honestly." A large blue tear rolled down his fat face and he looked so pathetic, Nicolas softened.

"Look, I didn't mean to come across as ungrateful or spiteful," said Nicolas. "I just got mad because I've gotten myself into some deep trouble I was hoping you'd help me out of."

"I believe you!" said the genie and immediately his pompous demeanor returned.

Nicolas' cheeks reddened with anger. "Was that one of my excuses?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"It sure was, Bub. Use the other two wisely!" And with that the genie disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Nicolas fumed all the way across the hot desert trail he'd hiked to find the lamp. He'd have to face his boss and then his wife empty handed. He shivered at the thought.

Nicolas decided to stick with the truth. "I'm sorry, sir," Nicolas said to his boss. "I found the genie but he didn't grant me any wishes so I can't pay back the loan I took from you and lost gambling."

He closed his eyes, waiting for his boss to explode. But to his surprise he put his arm around Nicolas.

"Boy, those genies have hoodwinked more than one man. You have made mistakes, but you are a good egg. Come. Have a drink with me."

A few hours later Nicolas stumbled home through town more than a little tipsy. He couldn't believe he hadn't lost his job. Now, with his last excuse, all he had to do was tell his wife he couldn't get her family's jewels back from the pawn shop. He promised himself he would live the straight and narrow life from now on. He just wanted peace.

His wife opened the door, ablaze with fury. "Why are you so late!" she demanded. "It's nearly midnight."

Nicolas teetered backward. He was more than a little afraid of his wife.

"I...I'm sorry," he stammered. "The boss wanted to have a drink with me."

His wife's facial features relaxed. "Fine," she said. Then her ire returned in full force. "But where are my jewels?"