Like Pavlovian dogs, when children hear the tinny chimes of an ice cream truck they start to twitch. Like crack addicts at Marion Berry's house, they start begging you for money.
"Dadtheicecreammanisoutsideandiwanttogetabombpop!" Over and over and over they cry.
Sometimes fate is kind and allows them an orange dream bar. Other times fate kicks them in the ass and daddy refuses to pay $2.50 for an ice cream bar shaped like Scooby-Doo that dies your daughter's face green for a month.
But now. Oh, now I have the power. You see, Beware of the Blog posted MP3s from ice cream trucks. Including the same sound that echoes through our neighborhood right about dinner time. It even has the sound of other jubilant children running to get icy summer goodness.
I feel drunk. I can't wait to make the kids run to the door only to find nothing. I wonder how many times I'll be able to do it.
Cruel? Yes, it is. But that's what dads do. We love you, but if you can make us laugh, we'll sell you down the river.
$2.50!?!? Jesus, I remember getting CHANGE from my mom to pay the ice cream man. Damn inflation.
ReplyDelete"I feel drunk. I can't wait to make the kids run to the door only to find nothing. I wonder how many times I'll be able to do it."
ReplyDeleteAhem....
Did you ever know that you're my heeeeero...
(Can't wait to do the same thing here tomorrow afternoon! Mua ha ha ha haaaaaa!)
I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me
ReplyDelete