Monday, November 13, 2006


Today I'm gettin' a little help from my friends. My buddy has come up with a new meme for bloggers and NaBloppers alike. It is the Ice cream/Naked Dance meme. Really, it is. All decency demands that I not go into the "peacock dance" a la Micheal Myers that my first husband once gleefully executed for me (while not averse to presenting my ex in a laughable forum, I'd rather just not give him any more play than he's had {but I WILL let drop that it involved several trailing lengths of toilet paper tucked between the butt-cheeks, and much prancing of the willy-nilly sort})... I will tell you a story of childhood trauma involving ice cream. Apparently all women have one. This is according to Anne Nahm, and I have to give it to her, it holds true in my case.

There have been many happy ice cream stories from my childhood, not the least of which involve the Orange-Chocolate-Chip-Chocolate cones from Swensen's, the chocolate dipped cones from DQ, and various incarnations of Pralines and Cream that are to be found the world over. Obviously the most traumatic ice cream tale is from my adulthood, starting around age twenty three.

Two words; Lactose intolerance.

From my childhood, picture a time so freaking far back in the day, that Baskin Robbins didn't even have those cute little pink spoons to give free nibbles of product. Picture a little girl who is thrilled to be getting a scoop, it's the highlight of her little girl day. Picture the pale and rarefied beauty of the palest green ice cream... it's almost not green it is so delicate a hue. It looks exquisite and french. The name of it sounds French; Daiquiri Ice. Ooooo, say that out loud, it sounds so good. I have a vague memory of my parents trying to talk me out of my choice, but I had to have it. Plus, how could ice cream ever taste bad?

It tasted worse than bad. It was sour, and not in a good way, it tasted rancid. They wouldn't take it back, and so that 31 Flavors trip...I got nothing. I remember scraping the scoop of melting nastiness into the garbage can and wiping the cone down so I could at least eat the cone.

I feel so bad for my childhood self that I think I'm gonna go take two lactaid tablets and eat some ice cream right now, consequences be darned. Dadguy, this is my apology in advance for the results, lactaid notwithstanding.


anne nahm said...

Oh man! I so remember the daiquiri Ice at B&R! My mom wouldn't let me try it - she thought I'd somehow get a taste for alcohol (through non-alcoholic ice cream? Not sure what the thought process was there) but it did look like the color Barbie would wear to the prom or something.

Thanks for the trip down memory lane as well as the laugh:^)

Mama D said...

Will you still be my friend if I tell you I have no traumatic ice cream story? At least not a specific one. I seem to recall a scoop of ice cream falling off my cone and into the dirt. Perhaps I've blocked it out. Best not to think about it...

bon said...

Mamad D... I will ALAWAYS be your friend! The ice cream bit, is the world according to Nahm.