Ice Cream

We were at Alexander’s house last night. We had dinner, then Keith suggested we walk to Dairy Queen for a treat. I was all in. We had gotten coupons over a month ago featuring a giant picture of a cone dipped in chocolate and I have been really wanting one ever since. Alexander said they might be closed when we got there, as it was almost 8pm. Keith checked. They are only open noon – 7pm (undoubtedly because they don’t have anyone to work) (I want to get a job everywhere so I can help. I think everyone must feel that way).

We detoured on our way home to drop something at our friends’ house. We had the garage code to leave it anytime, as they are in Eau Claire welcoming their born-yesterday grandbaby, Gabriella. (Gabriella was one of the names I had picked out for Alexander. He did not look like a Gabriella) (I think I would have called him Ella, which is a name in itself, then bam! He could have pulled out a secret long name, when he wanted. I’ve always thought Cinderella’s name is Ella. The story said they called her that because she hung out by the fireplace ashes. I don’t think anyone NAMED her Cinderella. I think Cinder Ella. But, you know, it could have been just a whole nickname because “Hey Cinder” didn’t flow. She could have been Cinderdenise, but that didn’t flow, so they were with something easier to say. I have not thought of that before. I was just assuming away that her name is Ella. I need to buy baby Gabriella a Cinderella thing. Just to get things started. Oh, but people are anti-princesses now. I get that. I see it. It didn’t damage me, but times are soooo different. I will hold on the shopping. Back to the Dairy Queen story. Oh, my goodness. That reminds me of my favorite story. A guy from far away was driving in Wisconsin, seeing all the Native American names on the signs. He sees Oconomowoc, and as with all the rest, he wonders how to pronounce it. In this case, he actually takes the exit, because he needs to use a restroom. He stops at the first fast food place, which is a DQ. After using the restroom, he orders something to eat and tell the girl behind the counter that he is doesn’t know how to pronounce this place and could she tell him, very slowly. She says, “Daaaaare – eeeeeeee – kweeeeeeeeen.” Teeheeee. The best. We have gotten off the rails here, so back to today’s events.) As we drove through town, we passed the Woodbury DQ – with its line stretching out the parking lot, down the street, and around the corner. Ooof. It was even a cool evening! What will real summer bring?

When Keith came down wondering about lunch, I said we were going to Dairy Queen because there wouldn’t be a line now. He smiled, and suggested we finish the leftover pasta from Olive Garden. Oh. (I was very surprised. He is a BIG fan of sweets, especially ice cream). I acquiesced and so it was. As we were finishing (there really wasn’t that much leftover), I said I was going to DQ anyway. I invited him to come along, and to drive me.

We scored a cone and a blizzard with no wait. As Keith exited the drive thru, I suggested we pull around and park in their lot. An ulterior motive for that had arisen when I saw a Girl Scout thin mint (made with real Girl Scouts!) (Alexander was the first one to say that to me a long, long time ago and I can’t not think it every time I see Girl Scout cookies. It makes me laugh every time) (Every time!) blizzard on the menu board and thought maybe, just maybe, we would go for round two.

As we were finishing, I asked Keith what he would have if we had something else. He immediately confessed that was why he parked where he did – he thought he would have a chocolate dipped cone. Back we went and ordered a medium cone and a medium Blizzard, again.

I was thinking about Dairy Queen “ice cream” while we were eating. I’m sure there is a definition of ice cream and that it doesn’t qualify. It’s soft serve, whatever that is, but I call it ice cream. It’s not fabulous tasting, but it has nostalgia and convenience (at 11am. Not a 9pm). It also has cones. I love (LOVE) regular ice cream cake cones. Cake? They are definitely not cake. I have looked at them very, very closely. They are some type of Styrofoam. Food grade Styrofoam (or maybe just Styrofoam. I am guessing about the food grade part. Guessing and hoping.) Waffle cones are great and all – they smell really, really good if you are at a fancy place were they are waffling them up – but a standard cone is where it’s at. And as good as a cone is, the very bottom – reinforced with a grid of deliciousness – is the best. Why? Obviously, because there is more Styrofoam per square bite. The ice cream will not be very cold down there when you get to it, so it doesn’t hurt your teeth when you bite right in (two strategies on that – pop the whole thing because it is going to be GREAT and you know it, or bite it in half to lengthen the process and savor the goodness. I do not always prescribe to the same route; it really depends on the moment. Today was nibbling! (A modification of the savoring involving small nibbles) (Nibbles! If I had one of those mouse-type pets I would name it Nibbles) (I am kind of afraid of those mouse-type pets and would not have one) (If I had a stuffed mousy type stuffie: Nibbles) (That last part will confirm to anyone reading that I do not ever plan these essays at all.)

After our second round, we were so, so full, but not regretful. Dinner is not required, if you eat a big lunch, so it will all work out.