Sheldon the tortoise was, to put it mildly, a homebody. He loved his little patch of garden, his comfy moss bed, and his collection of shiny bottle caps. Adventure? Sheldon preferred a good nap. His friend, a hyperactive hare named Harriet, couldn’t understand it.
“Sheldon, darling, you simply *must* come to the annual snail race!” Harriet announced one sunny morning, practically bouncing on her hind legs. “It’s going to be thrilling! Think of the excitement! The glory!”
Sheldon peered out from under a particularly large lettuce leaf. “Sounds…exhausting,” he mumbled. “I’ve got a rather important appointment with a particularly juicy slug.”
Harriet gasped dramatically. “A slug? Sheldon, you’re missing out on the chance to prove that tortoises aren’t just slow, they’re *legendary* slow!”
Sheldon sighed. “Legendary slowness sounds…comfortable.”
Harriet, exasperated, finally dragged him to the race. The starting pistol fired, and the snails, bless their slimy little hearts, set off. Sheldon, however, immediately started munching on a stray dandelion. Harriet watched in disbelief.
The race concluded hours later. The winning snail, a champion named “Slimy,” was crowned with a tiny, slightly wilted daisy. Harriet, breathless and covered in mud, confronted Sheldon. “Sheldon! You didn’t even try!”
Sheldon, wiping his mouth with a leaf, looked up innocently. “Oh, I tried,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I tried to get to the finish line before the lettuce ran out.” He then pointed to a completely empty lettuce patch. “But clearly, I’m a *much* faster eater than I am a racer.”
