The Montana Viagra Disaster

Everyone in the little Montana town of Pine Creek knew Harold and Linda Dawson.

They had been married for thirty-seven years.

They had raised three children, survived two kitchen renovations, owned the same pickup truck for seventeen years, and had spent more winters arguing over whether the thermostat should be set at 65 or 68 degrees.

They were a perfectly ordinary couple.

Except for one problem.

Linda was convinced Harold had forgotten that romance existed.

It hadn’t happened overnight.

At first, she thought it was simply age.

Then Harold stopped planning date nights.

Then he stopped complimenting her.

Then he stopped even noticing when she bought a new blouse.

One evening, Linda stood in front of him wearing a dress she had bought specifically for their anniversary.

Harold looked up from his newspaper.

“Nice dress.”

“Thank you.”

He went back to reading.

Linda waited.

Nothing.

“That’s it?”

Harold looked over the top of the newspaper.

“What?”

“I bought this for you.”

“It looks nice.”

“Harold, we’ve been married thirty-seven years.”

“I know.”

“You used to tell me I looked beautiful.”

He smiled.

“You still look beautiful.”

Linda’s heart lifted.

Then he added, “You just don’t need me to say it every five minutes.”

Her heart dropped again.

“That,” she said, “is exactly the problem.”

The next morning, Linda decided enough was enough.

She made an appointment with their family doctor, Dr. Peterson.

After listening to her concerns, the doctor leaned back in his chair.

“How is Harold otherwise?”

“Healthy as a horse.”

“Any major medical problems?”

“No.”

“Stress?”

“Only when I change the furniture.”

“Alcohol?”

“Two beers on Friday night.”

“Smoking?”

“No.”

Dr. Peterson nodded thoughtfully.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“He says he’s tired.”

The doctor smiled.

“Have you tried Viagra?”

Linda immediately laughed.

“Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“That man won’t even take an aspirin.”

Dr. Peterson chuckled.

“I understand.”

Linda sighed.

“I just wish there were some way to convince him to try something without making him feel like something is wrong with him.”

The doctor thought for a moment.

Then he leaned forward conspiratorially.

“Well…”

Linda raised an eyebrow.

“There is one possibility.”

“What?”

“Montana Viagra.”

Linda stared at him.

“Montana Viagra?”

“Exactly.”

“What is that?”

The doctor grinned.

“Take one of the tablets, crush it into a fine powder, and stir it into his morning coffee.”

Linda’s eyes widened.

“He won’t know?”

“Probably not.”

She leaned closer.

“And you’re sure this is safe?”

The doctor laughed.

“Linda, I’m joking. Please don’t secretly put prescription medication in your husband’s coffee.”

She burst out laughing.

“I was beginning to think you were serious!”

“However,” he added, “if Harold is having genuine difficulty with sexual function, he should talk to me directly. There are legitimate treatments, and we can figure out what’s appropriate.”

Linda nodded.

“I know.”

Then she smiled.

“But I have to admit, ‘Montana Viagra’ is a pretty good name.”

“I’ve been practicing medicine in Montana for twenty-five years,” the doctor said. “You learn to entertain yourself.”

Linda went home feeling better.

That evening, she told Harold about the doctor’s ridiculous joke.

Harold laughed so hard he nearly dropped his fork.

“Montana Viagra?”

“That’s what he called it.”

“What is it?”

“Apparently, you crush it and put it in coffee.”

Harold shook his head.

“That doctor is an idiot.”

Linda smiled.

“See? You laughed.”

“I laugh all the time.”

“You laughed at me last week when I fell off the porch.”

“You weren’t hurt.”

“I was emotionally injured.”

Harold reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“I love you.”

Linda smiled.

“I love you too.”

For the first time in months, she felt hopeful.

But the next morning, something unexpected happened.

Linda woke up early.

She made Harold’s coffee.

Then she made breakfast.

Harold came into the kitchen wearing his old flannel shirt.

He took his coffee.

He sat down.

He drank.

Then he suddenly froze.

Linda looked at him.

“What?”

Harold stared at her.

“What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

He stood.

Linda blinked.

“Harold?”

He walked around the table.

Then he swept the newspapers, plates, and napkins onto the floor.

Linda’s mouth fell open.

“What are you doing?”

Harold pulled her toward him.

“I’m remembering something.”

“What?”

“Why I married you.”

Linda started laughing.

“Harold!”

He kissed her.

She laughed even harder.

“You’ve lost your mind!”

“Maybe.”

He picked her up.

“Harold!”

“Come on.”

“Where?”

He looked toward the living room.

“Somewhere without a kitchen table.”

Linda could hardly believe it.

For the first time in years, Harold seemed to have rediscovered the man she married.

The next hour was filled with laughter, affection, and a level of enthusiasm Linda hadn’t seen since their honeymoon.

Later that morning, Linda lay beside Harold, staring at the ceiling.

“Well,” she whispered.

Harold smiled.

“Well what?”

“I think the doctor was onto something.”

Harold laughed.

“I told you that doctor was an idiot.”

Linda laughed too.

But then she suddenly sat upright.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“I forgot something.”

“What?”

“We weren’t at home.”

Harold looked around.

He finally noticed the unfamiliar curtains.

The strange furniture.

The coffee shop sign on the wall.

The table they’d been sitting at that morning.

He slowly turned toward Linda.

“Where are we?”

Linda covered her face.

They had gone to Starbucks.

And apparently, in the excitement of the moment, they had created a scene that neither of them would ever forget.

A manager was standing nearby with his arms crossed.

A teenage employee was staring at the ceiling.

Someone at the next table had already called the police.

And their coffee was still sitting on the floor.

Linda quickly grabbed her purse.

Harold pulled on his shirt.

As they hurried toward the door, the manager shouted:

“HEY!”

They stopped.

“YOU TWO!”

Linda turned around.

The manager pointed toward the mess.

“You’re never allowed back here!”

Harold looked at Linda.

Linda looked at Harold.

Then she started laughing.

By the time they reached the parking lot, she was crying from laughter.

Harold opened the truck door.

“You know,” he said, “we’re going to have to find another coffee shop.”

Linda wiped her eyes.

“Definitely.”

“Maybe somewhere they don’t know us.”

She climbed into the passenger seat.

“Harold?”

“Yeah?”

She smiled.

“Do you think Dr. Peterson has any idea what he started?”

Harold started the truck.

“I hope not.”

Linda laughed.

Then her phone rang.

It was Dr. Peterson.

She answered.

“Hello, Doctor.”

“How did everything go?”

Linda looked at Harold.

Then she looked back at the Starbucks sign.

“Doctor…”

“Yes?”

“It was a disaster.”

“Oh no,” he said. “What happened?”

Linda tried not to laugh.

“The second he finished his coffee, he jumped up, swept everything off the table, ripped my clothes off, and made love to me right there!”

There was a long silence.

Finally, Dr. Peterson said carefully:

“Well… that doesn’t sound so bad.”

Linda sighed.

“Maybe not to you.”

She looked at Harold.

“But we’re never allowed back in Starbucks!”

Harold burst out laughing.

Linda did too.

And from that day forward, whenever anyone in Pine Creek asked why the Dawsons suddenly started buying their coffee at the gas station, neither of them would explain.

They simply smiled.

And changed the subject.