11 Comments
Posts Tagged ‘ice cream’
25 results.
The lychee ice cream that we can find once or twice a year at the Buford Highway Farmers market is kind of like a white sorbe with small chunks of coconut in it. It did melt and I did eat it.
I went to the East Atlanta Farmers Market There was vendors selling lots of lettuce but also goat cheese and home made yogurt. An ice cream vendor sold coconut lemon grass pops and bourbon pecan sorbe. I felt a bit out of place because I didn’t have a stroller. I was sitting next to one of the boxed gardens and ice cream van with my shoes off and munching on a grapefruit and mint pop. A woman was going to the ice cream stand and her little blond toddler walked right up to me and plopped down in my lap. Her mother apologized but I thought it was awesome. I told the mother that once before I had a random little girl sit down in my lap at a parade. Hours later another woman waved to the girl, her hair in the same ponytail as mine. The little girl looked from the other woman to me and jumped up. Turns out I looked like her baby sitter. At the farmers market, this little girls mother and I joked about how I had ice cream and her mom was just standing in line for ice cream but the toddler had no interest in my popsicle. A moment later I could feel … a rumbling in the toddlers diaper. I told her mom that she was, as my brother puts it, “having a meditation.” After that, the toddler got up and went with her family to a table to eat their ice cream. Apparently I make a lovely toilet. I’d be upset if the diaper had a leak, as it is I just think it’s cute.
ps. Guess who’s sitting on the park bench in the background?
Sometimes you get a hankering for a banana split. The problem with being a grownup is that you can go and get the makings for a banana split and then have one every night for a week. How is this a problem? It is if you’ve been going to the gym every night for two weeks. It gets frustrating when you don’t see a result…though I think not seeing a result from the nightly banana splits might be the outcome.
The common assumption is that someone with a very loud, very showy car is trying to compensate for something else in his life. I don’t think this is true for the old muscle cars though. I salivate at the sight of an old Mustang. The big steel cars with the low rumbling engine that you can feel at the bottom of your spine make me all tingly inside.
