No offense, cake, but in my heart of hearts, I’m an ice cream gal. My ice cream fanaticism probably started with trips to Thrifty’s on hot summer days when my mom would treat my then-pint-sized self to a scoop of rainbow sherbet and my younger sister Kate to a scoop of strawberry or chocolate something-or-another ice cream. No sharing required.
And sometimes during those ice cream indulgences, my mom would even give me a dime – though it’s probably several quarters, nowadays – to get one of those sticky hand toys out of the mini vending machines at the drug store, which I could then use to amuse myself – and annoy my silly little sister – for hours after the ice cream had disappeared because, clearly, her forehead was meant to be a target.
My love for ice cream was so deep at such a young, innocent age that shameless adults could leverage the frozen treat as a bribing mechanism. Just ask my Uncle Bill. (more…)