Ice cream, ice cream, I want to scream for ice cream!
As I sit here on this very still summer afternoon. I note that it’s quiet. Too quiet.
I haven’t seen that truck yet this summer and I miss it. Besides its “Pop Goes the Weasel” soundtrack, I miss the sound of bare feet hitting the floor, running frantically to a piggybank, the tinkle of change on a table and then a loud declaration, “I’m getting a Screwball!”
I wonder if our ice cream man is taking an extended vacation? Perhaps there’s a shortage of sprinkles. Then I shudder at the thought, Could this be another casualty of the gas crisis? Please say it isn‘t so!!
I can’t imagine this particular summertime treat suddenly gone. Entire happy childhoods hang in the balance! Summer should taste like stale bubblegum at the bottom of a plastic cup of orange sherbet with a side of exhaust fumes. Somehow, a Push-Up just doesn’t taste the same from a home freezer.
Ice Cream Man, wherever you are -- please come back. You are sorely missed.
(And I will even remain in Good Humor if that tinkling of change from the piggybank is replaced by a thud of a checkbook from the fuel surcharge.)
- Suburban Diva http://www.suburbandiva.com/