Ice Cream Drips and a Red Fedora

 

Mmmm...ice cream!

Anyone who knows me at all knows that my favourite snack is ice cream.

Anyone who knows me really well knows that I'm also mildly lactose intolerant...and I don't care.

Actually, I am intolerant or allergic to several foods: cinnamon, garlic, strong spices of unknown varieties, grass. That last one isn't a food most people partake in, but it is a food for some species...like deer. 

What helps me when my throat clogs up from garlic and I feel like I can't breathe? Ice cream.

What gives me an emotional boost at the end of a long, discouraging day? Ice cream.

What brings me joy in those special moments of life when I want to celebrate? Ice cream.

What do I not want sliding down my chest into my bra? You guessed it... ice cream.

And yet it has. 

As my friend and I ate ice cream in the parking lot of Scoops and Snacks, I was fortunate enough to experience the same uncomfortably awkward scenario that plagued our poor Brianna in chapter 2. However, unlike the young adventurer in our story, I did not run for home. Instead, I just let it be. Because what can you really do when a glob of sticky ice cream pools in your clothing? Nothing, that's what.

I don't particularly appreciate that part of ice cream.

What I do appreciate about ice cream is that it attracts all kinds. Adults, kids, elves, dogs, deer... all are in love with the deliciousness of ice cream. Even wasps...which should all die.

During our ice cream eating adventure, we had the pleasure of meeting some of the local deer. One even tried to come say hello to my usually friendly dog, who pointedly avoided making eye contact and pretended she didn't see the deer whenever it looked her way. Apparently she's afraid of large animals. 

I took her to meet a calf once and she almost produced it's mother. (For those of the non-Simpson generation, "don't have a cow, man" is exactly what I told her as she tried to break her collar in an attempt to escape.) She also met a horse once, but that's a horse of a different colour. I mean, she's a wheat colour, the horse was chestnut. 

Here are pictures to corroborate the tale of the deer and the dog:

Here, too, is a photo of my incredible author friend, letting the aforementioned deer lick her fingers.

As an aside, I've always liked fedoras, but I don't care for the colour red.