I’ve been thinking about the Good Humor truck a lot lately. Like, a lot. This happens to me almost every summer.
I get super hot.
The sweating starts.
The farmer’s tan shows up.
The sweating continues.
And I think about ice cream like it’s my job.
Every summer when I was a kid, we would spend our days at the local pool. My brother and sister were champion swimmers and they were rocking the butterfly and breaststroke on the neighborhood swim team.
I was a champion eater. Which meant that I was super good at floating. So I was allowed to tag along on pool days. Score!
Around 11:19 a.m., I’d start to get excited. At 12:31 p.m. I was pretty pumped. And by 1:03 p.m., I was straight up freaking out.
Waiting. Stressing. Counting and recounting my coins. Crying a little.
And then, in the far-off distance, I heard it…
Diddly ding da ding da ding ding-a-ling a ding dongggggggggggggg
(Whatever. That’s totally the song.)
