“I wonder when they close?”

It is currently 7:16 pm eastern time on Monday evening, August the 2nd. My wife just announced that dinner would have to wait until she returned from her evening sunset paddle. She gave me vague background on what she intends to fix, clearly hoping that I would summon some initiative if she is gone more than an hour. I am ambivalent on the subject, my initiative gene having disappeared since the kids left. Pam isn’t much better. We have basically been flying by the seat of our pants with no plan whatsoever. Last night, for example, we were enjoying our dinner out on the screened in porch when suddenly Pam brought up the subject of ice cream, in particular, the hand made variety served up at the Wild Cow Creamery in Belfast which we had discovered mere days ago during an excursion with our kids. Since Pam’s iPad was on the table, (don’t judge us), she pulled up their website and began regaling me with tales of their ice cream creation process, what with its small batch, all natural, home made, ethically sourced, free range etc etc etc…I made the mistake of saying…to no one really, “ I wonder when they close?”

The website said 8:00 pm. It was 7:30. It’s a twenty minute drive. It was then that my wife shot me a dangerous expression, as if she was planning a raucous march through the Seven Deadly sins. Before I knew what was happening, she was literally stuffing a bite of her half finished hamburger into her mouth while getting up from the table, “You get the keys and your wallet, I’ll grab a jacket.”

Anyone who knows Pam knows that she is the sort of woman who always looks completely put together even if its just a quick trip to the grocery store. But there she was, no purse, no make-up…no problem. “Floor it, we only have 25 minutes!”

When this woman gets it into her head that its time for ice cream, I am here to tell you that it is time for Ice Cream. I put the dog-tired Hyundai Santa Fe through her paces and we made it with 8 minutes to spare…

Of course, the down side of all this hand made natural crap is that they only sell whatever they have made that day! So, all the flavors we were salivating over scrolling through their webpage weren’t on the menu. We had to chose between a variety of eclectic offerings…

The long line began to creep forward. The pressure started to mount. You get one shot at this thing, you can’t choke when it’s your turn. After nearly 25 minutes of soul-searching and self evaluation…we were up. Pam ordered…

“I’ll take the Cosmic C3 in a sugar cone, and my husband will have two scoops of the Pecan Turtle.”

It was done. We would have to live with our choices. The anticipation was borderline manic. Finally we were handed our ice cream. Since we were parked illegally, (sadly, not one of the seven deadly sins), we felt it wise to eat it in the car so we could make a hasty getaway should any of Belfast’ finest show up. My ice cream was delicious beyond my powers of description. Pam loved hers so much she almost choked on it. Seriously, the poor girl inhaled a fleck of coconut down the wrong tube and proceeded to cough her head off for 15 minutes, complete with tears. But, my wife is a gamer. In between coughing jags she quickly licked her cone, not letting a single drop go to waste. Thats what the great ones always do…overcome adversity. She could easily have given up on her ice cream and concentrated all of her energy on like…breathing, but no way. This was home made, small batch organic ice cream we’re talking about. She wasn’t going to let something as mundane as choking stop her from enjoying every bite. 

That’s why she’s the champ, ladies and gentlemen.