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Sheldon was not your average garden snail. While his fellow gastropods were content with a leisurely patrol of the petunias, Sheldon gazed at the night sky with ambitious, if slightly misguided, dreams. Specifically, he gazed at the moon, convinced it was a giant, perfectly spherical piece of the crispiest, freshest lettuce.

“One day,” Sheldon would declare to his skeptical friend, Lila the ladybug, “I shall reach that colossal cabbage in the sky!”

Lila would just shake her tiny head. “Sheldon, that’s the moon. It’s rock. It’s very far away. And it’s not lettuce.”

“Nonsense!” Sheldon would retort, wiggling his antennae. “Look at its texture! So green! So leafy!”

Sheldon began his preparations. He gathered dew drops for sustenance, practiced slow but steady climbs up the tallest sunflowers, and even attempted to fashion a tiny, sticky-backed spacesuit from a discarded piece of cling film. His determination was unwavering.

One clear, star-studded night, Sheldon announced, “Tonight’s the night!” He found the tallest oak tree in the garden, a veritable skyscraper for a snail. Lila watched, half-amused, half-concerned.

Sheldon began his ascent. Inch by painstaking inch, he slimed his way up the trunk. The journey was arduous. He narrowly avoided a napping owl, dodged a particularly aggressive moth, and even had a philosophical debate with a grumpy spider about the merits of slow travel.

Hours turned into what felt like days. The air grew colder. The stars seemed closer. Sheldon’s little antennae twitched with anticipation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the very highest leaf on the tree.

He peered up, his eyes (tiny black dots on stalks) fixed on the moon. It seemed even bigger now, impossibly close, its craters looking like delicious, crunchy crevices. He took a deep, snail-y breath.

“Here goes nothing!” he whispered, and with all his might, Sheldon launched himself into the night sky.

He fell. For a glorious, terrifying, and utterly brief moment, Sheldon was airborne. He saw the garden getting bigger below him. He felt the rush of wind. And then… plop.

Sheldon landed softly in a patch of freshly grown, undeniably real lettuce in Mrs. Gable’s vegetable patch next door. He lay there for a moment, disoriented. He looked up. The moon was still impossibly far away, and still looked suspiciously like lettuce.

He took a bite of the real lettuce beneath him. It was delicious. Crisp, fresh, utterly perfect. Sheldon chewed thoughtfully. “Well,” he mused to himself, munching contentedly, “it wasn’t the moon. But it certainly is the best lettuce I’ve ever tasted.”

Lila, who had flown over to check on him, landed nearby. “So, the moon wasn’t lettuce after all?” she chirped.

Sheldon smiled, a rare expression for a snail. “No, Lila. But I found a new favorite restaurant.” And from that day on, Sheldon was content to explore the delicious greens of Mrs. Gable’s garden, occasionally glancing at the moon with a knowing, somewhat sheepish, look. His grand adventure had brought him exactly where he needed to be.