Remember how I wrote that post about the ice cream cone? And how I was so upset that the girl that dished it out didn’t shove the ice cream into the cone?
Well, today my mom and I returned to Charbroil. She got her twist again, and I ordered my usual chocolate peanut butter cup. The girl with the blond hair who served me before walked over to the ice cream freezer and started scooping out mine. I watched anxiously to see if she shoved the ice cream down into the cone. She didn’t. My mom told me to say something to her, but I just let her continue what she was doing.
She turned toward me and handed me the ice cream cone, and I smiled at her. I recognized everything about her. I stood on one side of the counter and she stood on the other, and we talked about how she ran yesterday at an invitational. Turns out, she’s one of my running “frenemies” and we’ve always talked to and acknowledged each other at meets.
It just struck me as funny that I was so pissed at the girl who didn’t shove my ice cream down further, and it turns out that I know her.
Maybe next time I see her at a meet I’ll ask her to please push the ice cream down to the bottom of the cone the next time I visit her at Charbroil.