Indecision

"Here," says the wizard, handing me a ladle bubbling with liquid. "Drink this."

What is it?

"Why, a magic potion!" He clears his throat. "Brewed painstakingly for many weeks, it is my finest work, a paragon of excellence and craftsmanship. May I draw your attention to its vivid colour, its subtle hints of elm and oak. No wizard alive could produce its better."

Yes. But what does it do?

"It works, my dear girl, as a sort of catalyst. Its exact outcome is difficult to predict, owing to its potency and great complexity. But there is a chance it will fulfill your dearest desires and lead to great happiness."

Just a chance?

He looks at me with impatience. "Well, yes, what do you expect? I did my best to filter out unwanted consequences, but there was only so much I could do. You must understand that in so potent an elixir it is impossible—it is against the very laws of nature!—to entirely eliminate risk."

What risk, exactly?

He sighs. "The potion may give you great happiness, but it may instead cause intense—though, I must assure you, shortlived—humiliation."

I look down at the ladle and at the eerie green liquid swirling within it. That faint whiff emanating from it—is that sweetness or is that rot?

"Well? Don't be such a coward, girl. Drink up!"

Still I hesitate. I bring it to my lips, then stop and lower my arm. If only I had more information. If only I knew for sure.