Last week I took the girls out for ice cream, one at a time. It was a great idea. Not only did I get to spend one-on-one time with each of my lovely daughters, but I also got to have Bruster's Ice Cream THREE nights in a row. Cora and I talked about some cool stuff, stuff like "Does God put names in expectant mother's heads?" At least I had some scripture for that one!
Anna and I shared a pecan Blast (it's like Dairy Queen's Blizzard). Great stuff! Bruster's makes their ice cream fresh every morning. We got a late start, so we had to eat our ice cream at brain freeze speed.
Meghan and I shared a brownie/ice cream/fudge thing. While we were eating the ice cream a woman with children came to the window next to us to order.
"Do you have chocolate, marshmallow ice cream today?" She asked, hopefully.
"No, I'm sorry. Not today." The teenager responded with a polite smile.
"Can I get a comment card, please." The woman didn't make it sound like a question.
Her husband then ordered for himself and for their two daughters, adding (to his wife), "Do you want anything?"
"NO." She said.
After the husband and the daughters got their ice cream, they all went around the corner. After about five minutes she came back to the window, knocked on it and said, tersely, "Can you give me the phone number of this place. Please."
They have FORTY FLAVORS at this place--made fresh daily, and she was apoplectic because she couldn't get chocolate marshmallow (I'm thinking she wouldn't make a great missionary to Africa--then again, I don't have much room to talk, she probably didn't have ice cream THREE days in a row).
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