In case you’re wondering what I do all the time when I’m not at work (in hindsight, you’re probably not), here’s a taste:
Yesterday, while I was sitting in my room, I heard the ice cream truck. When I was a kid the ice cream truck never came down my street. (On second thought, neither did the snow plow, which sometimes made it difficult in winter.) So whenever we heard the ice cream truck, which was rarely, we’d have to book it like none other. Yesterday was no exception. In a complicated dance that involved me hanging up on my mother, throwing on shorts, grabbing my bike and running down the stairs, I went to find the ice cream truck. After finagling my bike out, I was sorely disappointed to find no truck. I proceeded to trust my gut and bike in the wrong direction trying to find it before turning around to try the other direction. I finally found it (parked right outside my house) after some mad searching. Big question: why the heck aren’t there any kids buying ice cream?? Is it not just a little odd that the only person who wants ice cream is 21-year-old furiously biking after a small, white truck? The guys driving the truck certainly thought so. They didn’t seem readily impressed by my plight.
(My Oreo bar was delicious, by the way.)