Mabel's Eleven-Mile Sandwich
Mabel Fitch ran the only bakery in the town of Crumb Creek, and she was extremely proud of it. When the town announced a Founders' Day picnic, she promised to bring a sandwich big enough for everyone to share. Folks smiled politely, but Mabel meant every word.
She started baking on Monday. By Wednesday her loaf stretched out of the bakery, down Main Street, and over the old stone bridge, and by Friday it ran past the school and the feed store, where a family of ducks had moved in to nap on the crust. Mabel kept baking until the bread was eleven miles long.
The trouble came with the filling. She sliced tomatoes by the wagonload, spread mustard with a paint roller, and stacked a mountain of cheese on top. Then she stopped, because she realized that a sandwich this long could not be flipped, folded, or carried, and nobody could possibly reach the middle.
Mabel sat down on a fence and thought hard. Then she smiled. She sent a note to every house along the route, and on Saturday morning the whole town showed up with plates and napkins.
Everyone chose a spot and began to eat. The people at the north end got the pickles, while the people at the south end got the peaches, which Mabel had added by mistake, and nobody complained. By sundown, only a few crumbs were left, and the ducks had the best seats in the house.