My friend Hedge and I went to the theater last night, along with my 10 year old daughter and Hedge’s teenage son (one of the girl’s favorite people). The show was great and the company was a blast. There was a 3-minute, full-on, shaking, snorting case of the church giggles. It was unstoppable – we were literally SOBBING with laughter. The kids were not amused (actually, I think they were, but it’s a kid’s job to pretend to be annoyed, right? Kind of like you reprimand a toddler for swearing, while cracking up inside, right? RIGHT?)
Anyway, after the show, we headed home and on the way, we stopped at our favorite ice cream shop. It’s our favorite because 1) the prices are low, 2) the portions are huge, and most importantly, 3) they have Dole Whip (the most delicious treat in all the land). And since they had pineapple flavor last night (the most delicious flavor of the most delicious treat in all the land), there was no way we could drive by without stopping.
Hedge and her son didn’t want anything, so the girl and I got out of the car to order our enormous cones. As we passed the car next to us, the elderly couple inside smiled at us sweetly. When we headed back to the car, they smiled at us again. Everyone at this place is always nice – you always seem to strike up a conversation with the other people in line. Another reason I like it.
Anyway, the thing about Dole Whip is that it isn’t as structurally sound as regular ice cream, and as the girl was getting back into the car, hers flopped off her cone and into Hedge’s hands. After she cleaned up, I handed Hedge my cone and the girl and I headed back to the window to get a new one.
While I was waiting, I remembered that I wanted Hedge to try mine, since I had been raving about how good it was, and not that Hedge didn’t believe me but I rave about a lot of foods, so she probably figured it was normal foodthusiasm.
The windows of the car were up, so I couldn’t yell to her to try my down, so I started motioning. When I got her attention, I motioned for her to give it a taste.
We got the girl’s new cone and headed back to the car, only this time, the sweet couple next to us didn’t smile – they looked at us like we were deranged perverts. I couldn’t figure out why until I realized what my version of please-try-my-ice-cream-cone sign language looked like. Picture me holding my imaginary cone in a loose fist and mimicking licking it.
Yeah. I got it, then. Sorry, elderly couple!
My Very Last Nerve 