There once was a wobble named Bobble. He and his brother Bibble were rolling through town on a simmering, summer Saturday when they ran into Tribble and Trobble. Wobbles didn't get along with wibbles, but each always came in pairs, and each was as much a match for their own siblings as they were (in an opposite way) to their foes.
So it was that they fought, not in any way you might think fighting should go: they sort of flobbled into one another until they tired of the effort, but they still kept at it because it was no coincidence that Bibble and Bobble were in town this day, for they had heard that Tribble and Trobble would be here, and the wibbles had called the wobbles weak. And here they were to prove them wrong, and here the wibbles were knowing they must back their words with force.
They fought into the night and through it. When dawn came they had changed. Not the wibbles, for they believed they were right because the wobbles had given up. But giving up is a matter of perspective, and the wobbles had merely realized that they did not need to fight to win this fight. They grew up. The wobbles became wobs: Bibble became Bib, and Bobble became Bob.