So, another slow day–lots of writing, a little housework, some hang time with the fam.
And this–the short, surprising tale of exploding ice cream:
Chicken came by to do laundry–and then left again to play with friends and come back when her laundry was done. She walked in just as we were all eating Klondike Bars.
Klondike Bars are a family tradition. They are neat, involve no dishes, barely require a napkin, and limit the size and scope of the idea of “dessert”. We’re all fans.
But occasionally one will turn on you–and that’s a problem.
See, I had my knitting in my lap–up over my chest, actually because I was sprawling in an undignified and unhealthy way on my chair. As I was eating my Klondike bar, pieces of the chocolate coating began to fall off at an alarming rate, and I tilted my head back and tried to eat faster and more pieces fell and I contorted my neck so they wouldn’t fall on my knitting and the ice cream continued to melt and the next thing you know, I’m trapped like a helpless pork-barrel bug on my chair, my mouth full of melting vanilla, saying, “Uh, a little help? Anyone?”
My loving family, of course, lost their shit.
Yes, a napkin was run over so I could move my knitting and wipe my face and my neck and my chest, but they could barely stop laughing enough to ask me what happened.
“I don’t know!” I wailed.
“Your neck–you still have chocolate all over your neck!” my beloved Mate told me before dissolving into giggles.
“It just exploded!” I tried to explain, “And then I shoved it all in my mouth!”
Mate sprawled back on the couch and did an impression of mom, the pork-barrel bug covered in ice cream. “Help meeeeeeee!!!! Help meeeeeee!!!!”
We all laughed–hard and long– and just when we drew a collective breath to laugh some more, ZoomBoy shouted, “I’VE GOT TO PEE!!!!” And ran for the bathroom like his ass was on fire.
And that was it. Oxygen was not a thing anymore. None of us could breathe. We couldn’t even make sound we were laughing so hard. We were still gasping for air when ZoomBoy got back from the bathroom and did another impression of me, and then Chicken did another impression of him and then it all started over again.
I mean, I got nothing.
Beware of exploding ice cream. There you go. My lesson of the day.
Also, laugh with your family as often as possible. Even if it means ice cream on your boobs. Totally worth it.
Saying.
