It’s here. My kids’ very first official day of summer vacation 2013. And ironically, I woke up and popped out of bed at the usual 6 am time. Never fails. The kids, though, are knocked out and still sleeping. Young body clocks seem to have a quicker adjustment time…lucky ducks.
Over the weekend, we stopped at one of our favorite ice cream stands. It was 92 degrees and we deemed it the perfect day for a big, drippy, I’m-not-concerned-about-the-saturated-fat-content cone. Calories be damned on this sunny afternoon. At least, this was my thinking. To the kids, an ice cream cone is an ice cream cone. Period. When they look at it, they do not see thighs or treadmills. Let them retain that view of ice cream for as long as possible, I say.
Amusingly enough, one grown woman at the pick-up window voiced that same devil-may-care sentiment, too.
At this little country stand, cows roam the fields right across the street, reminding you where your iced delight originates. Pretty colonial houses and farms line the winding road out in the country. It’s like one of those Countrytime Lemonade ads (remember those?) come to life. Three cones for us three gals….vanilla with blueberry swirl and cherries, creamy cheesecake and a scoop of classic chocolate. That always makes me grin-when kids belly up to the ice cream window wanting a taste of this and a taste of that crazy flavor (Moose Tracks? Raspberry Holstein?) and then they finally settle on…chocolate…or vanilla. You can just feel the eyes of the entire line of people stacked up behind you rolling back into their heads, all sweating and just wanting their scoops. Chocolate, please, she says with a big smile!
So, here we were waiting for our cones and a group of four older women were next in line. They were amused by the names of the flavor and the debates began about what to order. One liked this one, didn’t like that one, what’s Cricket Crunch? and then went one of the ladies went on to describe how she likes her hot-fudge sundaes…”I always ask for the hot fudge to be LAYERED in with the ice cream…ice cream, hot fudge, ice cream and then fudge swimming on the top…not just all dumped on the top of the sundae”.
Holy cow. Now that’s a great idea. A totally high-maintenance idea wildly reminiscent of Sally’s character in the movie When Harry Met Sally (“I’ll have the whipped cream, but only if it’s real whipped cream, and if not, ice cream, but not on top, on the side…”) but a great idea nonetheless. I’ll have to try this one some time. Ah, the wisdom of the elders.
Woman number four of the four finally decided what to order and once she said her order to the teen in the window, I heard the best line from her…
“Oh, What the Hell!”
Which was quickly followed by a good giggle and the hearty agreement of her friends.
What the hell!
This was a what-the-hell that is followed by a happy exclamation point, not one followed by an angered question mark. She was happy about her ice cream choice and she was going to enjoy it, dammit. Bring it on. The fat, the calories…and the enjoyment! God bless her ice creamy soul.
It’s going to be hot again today…so go What-the-Hell it!
(photo credit unknown)