The Google icon this a.m. tells us it is the 119th anniversary of the ice cream sundae!   What a great day it is!   I am still working on not eating ice cream in a (so far successful) attempt to decrease my mass, but when I finally reach my goal (those five pairs of LL Bean five pocket jeans in every color of the rainbow) you can bet I’m headed to the San Francisco Ice Cream company in Walnut Creek for a monster sundae.

My favorite is the tin roof – butter pecan ice cream, fudge topping and peanuts – whipped cream and a cherry on top for sure.

When I lived in New York there was a fabulous ice cream parlor in the next town and it was there that I learned a lesson about how being a harping bitch who expressed her opinion with nothing at all to back it up could eventually end up eating…well, ice cream. By the way, I would have to take that life class many times over to finally get a passing grade, sometime around age 50.

My friend was trying to convince me to order some concoction with cherry ice cream.  I don’t like cherry ice cream.  What ARE those things in cherry ice cream? Certainly not cherries.  And anyway, if I wanted something with fruit in it I’d go to the salad bar (or go get a fruitcake :-).  Generally I don’t like chunks of things in my ice cream other than nuts – that whole Rocky Road thing is just not my style – marshmallows belong around a campfire, not in ice cream.

Anyway, D and I got into a rather heated exchange about cherry ice cream, largely because he always ordered cherry ice cream and I was giving him a wrath of abuse about how boring he is and how he never tries anything different.  It was just a metaphor, I think, about how boring his life was – the small town boy, the no ambition except to wait for his inheritance – by that time I was just about done with my New York experience.  Poor D.  He really was the nicest guy of the bunch.

We went round and round with me being the noisiest, of course.  I ordered something off the menu, and like most ice cream parlors the choices all had weird names.  In all my bitching I hadn’t really bothered to fully look at the list of ingredients. You guessed it – when it arrived it was chock full of cherry ice cream.  In retrospect I suppose it’s possible one of them “went to the bathroom” and changed my order, but nevertheless, I ate it just to prove that I wasn’t as small minded as D and was willing to expand my world.

I liked it.  It was delicious.  Lesson learned, sort of.