When I lived in Missoula, MT, food trucking was starting to become a popular thing. So popular, in fact, I ended up covering a story about for The Regular Joe, a monthly newspaper that printed some of my work up for a little over a year.

Today, after our weekly stop at the pharmacy, My Special Lady Friend and I saw a food truck parked across the road from the pharmacy.

“Are you hungry,” she asked.

Which I know is code for: I’m hungry. I want to eat at that Food Truck, and this is my way of being polite about it.

“Of course,” I said, because I have lived long enough to know NOBODY, regardless of sex, is very pleasant with an empty, grumbling stomach.

I’m not sure what the name of the company or truck was. (I know, I know: I can be a lousy Journalist, at times.) What I can tell is it’s a black & grey Food Truck. And, on the menu, is a shrimp & lobster wrap I really wanted to try. It had mayonnaise in it, unfortunately, and the only more disgusting than mayonnaise would be boiled lizard intestines… or baked spinal fluid that was already spoiled.

We each got a chicken wrap, two Cokes & a side of some really good fries, with pepper & salt already seasoning them. We were laughing & smiling a lot, sitting beneath an Oak tree. Days that she is not seeing patience (she is a Nurse Practitioner,) this Special Lady and I really do the best we can filling our time up with smiles & laughter. There are, of course, moments of SERIOUS talk. But we, seriously, do not dwell on anything dark. Nor do we hold anything against one another.

It’s amazing, really.

Not far from where we were, a woman was sitting on her own (well, not TOTALLY alone – she had a puppy. A pit-bull puppy… maybe it was a bulldog?) Anyway, I ask her if it was alright for me to pet the little Beast with needle-point-sharp puppy dog teeth. She said I could. Soon, I was on my knees, practically rolling around on the grass, playing & having a good ol’ time. I don’t think I bothered asking what his name was… but I do know he was TOUGH. Acting as tough as a three-month old puppy can be, which is darn tough, considering he was attacking me, a tall, rough-looking stranger. A stranger that, most likely, reeks of other, much bigger dogs.

After a few minutes of playing, it was time to move on. In the parking area next to the Food Truck, venders of all sorts were set-up, their goods displayed out for display & inspection.

As we were walking away, though, My Lady turned to me & asked me if I thought we should buy that nice woman with the puppy a sandwich.

“I’ll go ask.”

Kindness is contagious. And, for the most part, happiness can be contagious, as well.

As I walked back to the woman & her puppy, my heart filled-up with pride. I’m proud & honored to be with such a woman. That such a woman has anything to do with me is a mystery… one that I do not want solved. Some things are best left that way. I beginning to accept that.

Our friend & her puppy declined on the sandwich. But her puppy did have a couple of our French fries.

The venders were lined up in two rows, facing one another. We found a gift for my sister. And I REALLY wish I could get into the details of said gift, I can’t. I know she will be reading this Post. And I don’t want to spoil her Christmas gift.

One of the venders had scented candles in jars. He had a lot of wax products. And he shared with me that was his wife’s work. She was not there because she was home recuperating from a broken leg. However, one her more popular products was out for display:

That’s right: a BAG OF DICKS. They are scented, 100 percent Soy wax melts… shaped like little purple penises.

I had to ask:

“You sell a lot of these?”

“You have no idea. They are biggest seller. You wouldn’t believe all the different types of people buy those little dicks.”

I asked if it was mostly kids.

“It’s ALL people. I did not know people were so interested in a penis. It’s old people. It’s the kids. Grandmothers have bought them for themselves and for their friends. A single dad was here last week and bought a bag of them for a coworker he wanted to make laugh. I even think some members of the cloth bought some. But don’t hold me to that. And don’t go mentioning it to any churches.”

(Wouldn’t dream of it.)

Mr. Brad Randall is the man’s name. And, no, he does not formulate little wax phalluses in his spare time. He is a manufacturer of wooden furniture featuring skulls.

I saw some of his pieces. They were very good. I don’t want to use the term “interesting” because, when it is used, it sometimes seems rude. Like a person that just does not have the heart to say they don’t like something, so they say: “it’s interesting.”

We bought a couple of things from Mr. Brad as Christmas present.

(Yes: we got someone a BAG OF DICKS for Christmas.)

It was a very good Friday afternoon. And I hope it was the worst one I will ever spend with My Special Lady Friend.