Ice Cream Battlefield

The Scottish summer here lasts for, oh, about three days. And I have been lucky enough to experience those 72 hours of Vitamin D-laden bliss. People, of course, don’t know what to do with themselves. They’re used to their food, and their weather, combining with their own personalities for this comforting trinity of cold, grey things. The people can be lovely, don’t get me wrong, but they’re like avocados. If you hadn’t been conditioned to know that there was something better underneath the skin, you’d assume they were just rough and leathery through and through. Mmmm…creamy guacamole Scots.

So they do what they think they’re supposed to in these rare situations…they pull on their one pair of shorts from 1997, and go in search of the one thing that is guaranteed to be paler than their own appendages: ice cream.

Funny side story there, little one. A few years back, my friend Mike and I went to the Dominican Republic for a week or so. We ended up telling people that the hotel had paid us to come down, just so we’d make everyone else feel tanner by comparison. We’d wake up, get on the Banana Boat, per se, slather each other up Jackson Pollock-style, and get blitzed on Coco-Locos for the next 10 hours, because they made us feel tanner. So I know what you’re going through, even if you don’t.

Seeing you there, covered in ice cream, well, it reminds me of myself in so many ways. I was a messy, messy ice cream eater well into my 20’s. I totally turned the curse into a blessing once, though. On a first date with an incredibly cute girl, and not 20 minutes in, I had splattered my entire pant leg with a tasty combination of root beer and vanilla ice cream. She must’ve liked the infusion of Andrew and ice cream, because we dated for two years thereafter. But you’ve got a ways to go before you’re in any kind of position to date, even if you are already wooing women with your adolescent innocence and creamy cap.

You really are a cute child…even more so with the thorough staining of frozen dairy all over yourself. If the circle of life was in full effect, some larger child would come along, just pick you up, and eat you, now that you’re lightly sweetened, just how the Scots like. Oh, how I wish that were true. I could almost see through your constant wailing if I knew that you were providing decent nutrition for someone higher-up on the food chain. Until then, I’ll just watch you wander aimlessly outside this ice cream shop, amidst the dairy battlefield, with all the lost and forgotten cones splattering the sidewalk.

They say love is a battlefield…specifically, Pat Benetar. But seeing how ice cream is love, I guess she’s right. Love is a battlefield. Now I’ve got it stuck in my head. Now you’ve got it stuck in your head. Sorry about that. Oh, you don’t know Pat Benetar? Here, come to my van, I’ll play you a tape. No, it’s ok, I’m sure your parents won’t mind. I’ve even got some ice cream in there.