ice cream

10 Apr

Oh, ice cream. Who doesn’t love all that creamy sugary frozen goodness? I think I may have developed a slight lactose intolerance in Ghana last summer, but I still eat ice cream whenever it’s available. I can’t help it.

Like today. Instead of going to school, I went on an English field trip to Yale Repertory Theater, where we saw Paul Giamatti play Hamlet. He was really great; he added plenty of comedy and emotion to the part. But here’s the thing: on stage, he looked like he was about fifty. It made the whole Ophelia-Hamlet romance really skeevy. He looked like he could have been that skinny bitty’s daddy. That and I couldn’t get over the big beer belly and glaring bald spot. I know. I must sound like the most shallow person in the world right now. For some reason, though, I always pictured Hamlet as a cute crazy dude, not a fat old guy. Anyways, after the play, we stopped to get McDonald’s. Naturally, I bought myself a vanilla ice cream cone. It was a heavenly distraction from the hours of traffic that lay ahead.

When I got home, I saw that the house was clean (a rarity) and the dinner table was set. I soon learned that we were having the Mormon missionaries over. It was a tiny bit awkward at first, since it was just my sisters and I and my Dad and the two young men. We talked about where each was from and more meaningless small talk. My dad had to leave, which was a problem because the Elders (that’s their title) aren’t allowed to be in a house with only girls in it. My dad offered them ice cream to eat on our porch, though, so we ended up hanging out with them for another hour or so. One of the missionaries wound up doing flips on our trampoline and then playing basketball with my sisters and me. And yes, the entire time they wore their white button-down with slacks and a tie.

The whole visit was fabulous, because there’s something about Mormon missionaries that is just flaming hot. Maybe it’s that they’re not allowed to date for two years. Maybe it’s that they’re just new people to meet who are around my age. Maybe God gives them hotness and charm so they can get more people to be open to hearing what they have to say. I dunno. All I know is that there is almost always at least one mishy that I’m crushing on at a given moment.

After the mishies left, we went to Church for mutual. I had a “date night” dinner activity with the 16+ people. It was kind of fun, and mostly awkward. We had cake afterwards for someone’s birthday. Then Jurn and Gee decided that they wanted to go get free ice cream. I love ice cream, and I love free ice cream even more. Even though it was getting late and pouring sheets, I drove them and my sisters to get the ice cream. We had 26 seconds of silence during which we thought about the victims of the Newtown tragedy. The ice cream had been donated to the people of Newtown to help cheer them up. It was just one of many demonstrations of love and altruism. But to be honest, I don’t think a single scoop of ice cream has ever gotten me closer to crying.

Ice cream is simple. Sugar, cream, cold. That’s basically it. It still amazes me that something so simple and so pure can bring people together—like me and the missionaries—and also help alleviate the pain and discomfort of a long journey or a tragic event. Ice cream is love.


One Response to “ice cream”


  1. Who makes the rules? | Syllable in the City - April 13, 2013

    […] ice cream ( […]

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