Here’s a long overdue vacation story: The island near the one where my parents live has a locally famous ice creamery. We are talking decadent ice cream – very creamy ice cream – the kind of ice cream that is so good you don’t think about the calories for a second. (Those calories are just now coming to my mind months later.) So while we were enjoying the “Fly-In” party at the airport we stopped for ice cream.
Emal got an orange-cherry snow cone. Memmy got black raspberry. Lucy got chocolate.
The ice cream was frozen hard – very hard. Lucy’s took a tumble off the cone and landed in the driveway chat. Remember I told you this is perfect ice cream – and expensive. I said, “Pick that up!” Confused, Lucy handed me the cone complete with replaced chocolate scoop.
I removed the big rocks, wiped the dirt from the side with my finger, took a lick, pronounced it “safe” and handed it back to her. We wiped down the new tie-dye dress as best we could. Lucy, shocked but smart enough not to question, went back to her cone – more carefully now.
After a few licks a few folks walk up. Here’s the conversation.
Man: (looking at Lucy) Mmmm. That looks good. What kind do you have?
Lucy: Well, it started out chocolate, but it ended up Rocky Road.
There is a prime example of my family’s dry and witty humor. She is my grandfather’s granddaughter! The laughter that followed caught the attention of the Ice Cream Guy. He invited Lucy into the truck to wash up and gave her a cup for her cone. Weird that he didn’t offer her a fresh scoop… Weirder that she was more excited by the opportunity to see the inside of the ice cream truck than she ever would have been about more ice cream.
Turns out it was the best Rocky Road she’s ever had.