I had a strange and vivid dream.
My friend Aaron and I decided to cross the country on vintage Vespa scooters.
After a few days on the road, we were stopped at an old time gas station in a small town.
The station attendant filled our tanks.
"That's twelve dollars" he told us, returning the hose and nozzle to the gas pump.
I fished around in my pocket, but came up with about thirty cents in change
I nodded to Aaron, "Dude, you got any cash?"
"naw, I thought you had it…"
The attendant looked at us over his glasses. "problem?"
"yeah," I said, "we're a little short"
He nodded. "Well, there's a college over across the street, I hear that if you give a motivational speech, they will pay you about twelve bucks"
I thought about it for a moment, "I can do that"
So soon enough I found myself on a large stage in a cavernous auditorium.
As the hall slowly filled, I sat at the back of the stage thinking, what I should talk about?
Then it hit me.
I would tell the cautionary tale of the magic muffin.
When the hall was full I approached the podium and the crowd fell silent.
murmering was replace by polite shuffling as the lights dimmed.
I looked out across the room, cleared my throat, and began my speech:
"Once upon a time there was a baker.
He baked all sorts of delicious treats.
Cookies, cakes, pastries, tortes. But his favorite thing to create, was muffins.
One day he decided to make the best muffins ever.
So he went about gathering all the best, rarest and most delicious ingredients, then baked them at his favorite temperature, for the perfect amount of time, and thought only happy thoughts while they baked.
When the timer chimed, he opened the oven, but to his great surprise there was only one very large muffin, and, even more surprising, it seemed to be alive.
It emerged from the oven, politely bowed to the baker, and then went about cleaning the kitchen.
Once the kitchen was gleaming and spotless, the muffin cooked the baker a dinner that was so delicious, that the baker actually wept.
As time went on, it became apparent that the muffins sole joy was in serving the baker.
As long as the muffin was cooking or cleaning or serving, it was a happy muffin.
For a long time the baker told no one, because first of all he was afraid no one would believe him, and second of all, he had no way to explain how the muffin did all these things because, although it was magic, it was after all, still just a muffin and as such, had no arms or legs.
One day the baker could keep his secret no longer, and invited his best friend over for dinner. He told his friend the story, and the friend watched in amazement as the muffin made a meal so spectacular that it brought tears to their eyes, and caused his friend to exclaim, "That is indeed the most magical of muffins!"
I stop telling the story for a moment because I notice Aaron waving urgently from a doorway at the side of the stage.
He taps his watch, and whispers loudly "We gotta go man!"
I look back over the audience.
" uh, so... long story short, they ate him, because he was after all, a delicious muffin. Thank you."
I leave via the side door, we climb onto our scooters and ride off into the night.
