We all scream for ice cream!
Oh, those summer days when we were kids and the ice cream man would come down our street and kids would come running from every direction with money…actually, that’s mostly fantasy as I think the ice cream man came about half a dozen times in my whole childhood and there were hardly any kids in our neighbourhood to come running anyway. In fact, my strongest memory is not of children running after the van, but of my father!
But let me tell you…when the ice cream truck came down our rural country road yesterday, I ran…I ran all the way through the house, slipping and sliding in my socks, stuffed my feet into a pair of public crocs (we have a few pairs of extra croc shoes and we call them “public” here after the pile of ones they have at the public sauna for people to use to walk down to the lake)…stuffed my feet into public crocs, raced outside only to find that he was patiently waiting. It wasn’t the same ice cream man who came in March (which I missed), but he’d heard there was a house full of crazy foreigners who liked ice cream.
The funniest part was, after he posed for a picture, I had to ask if he spoke English (he did, and was excited to have someone to practice with!) so I could explain that I’d left my money in the house. He waited while I ran the whole route in reverse, and then did it all over again, clutching a twenty euro note (ice cream comes by the box and is not cheap!).
The irony is, as you probably know…I don’t really like sweets. But how could I miss buying from the ice cream man? In the end I chose vanilla ice cream bars with milk chocolate and they’re very, very good. Thanks to Ilmari for waiting so patiently for me!