I questioned my belief in my love of ice cream tonight. I ordered a medium, banana flavored, hard ice cream on a cone from Arctic Island. What I got was enormous. Now here’s the thing. I should have been excited that the girl gave me SO much more than what any rational human being would consider a “medium” amount. But because it was still close to 90 degrees, it started dripping as soon as she handed it to me. Add to that a wriggly 14 month old, and I had a problem. Until I could eat and lick my way down to a manageable size, it was going to be a messy, and more repugnantly, gluttonous few minutes for me.
We rode our bikes down to the café/ ice cream place for something to do on a hot evening. We ordered scrumptious sandwiches from the Broadway Café. I even tried something different than the same thing I always get (a toasted Italian sandwich packed with goodness) and a cranberry/ grapefruit Vitamin Water. I was looking forward to the banana ice cream because they make all of their flavors in-house. The other local ice cream joint, Gannon’s, is also good but doesn’t carry banana. I ordered the cone because that has become the “green” thing to do. No Styrofoam cup and plastic spoon in the trashcan for me.
So there I am with a pint of banana ice cream about to topple off my cone. Why did the girl at the counter subject me to this forced speed binge? And why aren’t I enjoying it more? Am I at a point in my life now where I don’t love pigging out on ice cream? I guess so. Pity.
So I suppose my future solution is this, go with the less eco-friendly option, and not speed my way through some delecious home-made ice cream that should really be enjoyed slowly.