Double Scoop

Have you ever received so much ice cream that you had to change your clothes? Because I have.

One sweltering summer day, I decided as any other lower middle class American with minimal disposable income would to beat the heat with a frozen treat. I got my shoes on and off I went to my local ice cream vendor. It was just half a mile away, most of which was on a biking/pedestrian path, so I decided to walk. The smothering intensity of the heat became apparent as soon as I stepped out of my building. The sun beat down and seemed to stay there with no clouds to offer any relief. All I needed was some sour cream and chives and I would have known exactly how it felt to be a baked potato. What I didn't notice at that time was just how windy it was that day.

When I made it to the ice cream place I encountered the next dilemma of the day: what flavor to get. There were about fifteen to choose from all with unique zany names that sounded more like cocktails and didn't really tell you anything about the flavor, forcing you to read the descriptions of each one before you could make a selection.

Midnight Sunrise? That doesn't even make sense.

Snoopy's Day Off? How is that ice cream?

I decided to get a cup with half strawberry cheesecake and half zanzibar chocolate. I ordered a single serving and expected to get two half-size scoops in a single scoop cup. What I was given was two colossal scoops in a single cup. I had also grossly overestimated the size of a single scoop cup. The disproportionality in the sizes between the amount of ice cream and the cup it was crammed in could be visualized by imagining what it might look like if you tried to give a St. Bernard a bath in the kitchen sink.

My original plan was to get the ice cream and walk home as fast as I could to limit the melting and enjoy it in the comfort of my apartment while watching a movie. I intended to stick to that plan. After grabbing three napkins as a precaution I started my return journey. I'm not sure if the cup was even visible to other passersby; they may have thought I was bare-handing the ice cream like some kind of maniac.

My hopes to avoid excessive melting proved to be foolishly ambitious. The sun went to work immediately and droplets of chocolate ice cream were soon running down my fingers. I had no choice but to start frantically licking the sides while I walked, otherwise the comically large pile of ice cream might just slide off and splat on the sidewalk.

To add to the issue, I was walking directly into the wind, which caused the drops of melting ice cream to be blown onto me and splatter on my clothes. The coordination of the sun and wind's efforts made it feel like I was getting picked on by two schoolyard bullies. It was mother nature's version of "why are you hitting yourself?" The result was that I experienced the highest level of frustration that one could reach while holding an enormous stack of ice cream.

By the time I made it home my hands were covered in chocolate drippings and my clothes looked I had been standing behind a revving dirt bike in a patch of mud. It took me a couple minutes to turn the doorknob and get inside because my hands kept slipping, but when I finally did I rushed the remaining soupy ice cream into the freezer. Then, I changed my clothes.