Pumping away my paycheck in Gardiner, I stumbled across a marvel. A miracle. A sweet milky dream in recyclable foil. Purple ice creaminess encased in chocolate graham--an eatable catalyst for world peace. The label calls it Wilcoxson's Huckleberry Ice Cream Sandwich.
Friends, this was only the best thing ever. Only God's Gift to Montana. Only 79 cents. I wept for joy, and again when it was gone.
With one bite, I was swept away in a New Life Plan: marriage to Wilcoxson, whoever he is. And his cow. We'd have fat Violet Beauregarde-esque children, churning up ice cream and gathering huckleberries and rearing bison while we're at it. We would live in Lolo, Montana. Mr. Muir would come back from the dead and sit on our front porch eating the stuff, watching the bison graze peacefully and using his most beautiful words to describe the scene.
One day I'd be killed by a mob of angry anti-bison activists. Authorities would find me dead and tubby, purple-stained lips in a contented smile. At my funeral, they'd release a thousand lavender balloons, and in lieu of flowers, my widower (Wilcoxson) and widow (the cow) would accept donations toward a cure for lactose intolerance.
Forget college. Forget career plans. Forget writing and dating and money. The important thing in life is huckleberry ice cream, and a life with more purple is a life well-lived.
4 comments:
Thanks for reminding me why I miss you. This is wonderful... Good thing I'm allergic to the world because I would've been tempted to drive to Montana for delicious huckleberry ice cream sandwiches.
That is amazing! You are incredibly awesome.
Thanks friends! Shelene, I am on a quest to find some dairy-free huckleberry ice cream. It is too good not to share. Sarah, you're awesome.
We're eating huckleberry ice cream every day when we come up next weekend. Nice piece ... the violet beauregarde-esque children, the purple-stained lips. One of your best.
Post a Comment