That’s awfully formal for ice cream

Published April 21, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

As you may have noticed, my brain comes up with some pretty interesting thing when left to its own devices. (Just now, as I was writing that sentence, my brain said,”What do you know about the device?”)

Another example of my brain’s chicanery, (world’s worst boutique restaurant.) happened during my most recent MRI. I am very familiar with the procedure and did not have the opportunity to sedate myself, so I tried to relax and breathe deeply.  When you are having  crazy loud MRI, you are supposed to lie still like broccoli, not rowdy like radishes. If you move, you have to start the process all over again, so one strategy I have learned is to close my eyes and recite the alphabet backwards as I breathe slowly in and out.

This worked well for a little while, that is, until my brain decided it didn’t want to do that anymore and suddenly the letter i decided to leap down the alphabet and pick poor unsuspecting z and use it to clothesline every letter in it’s path. Then a scooped up b and challenged i to a duel, z got pushed aside and q got in on the act.

Well, how am I supposed to lie still for that?

So it is with this brain that I try to function in a world where I am supposed to be a grown up. As I was reading my newsletter from The Line Up ( true crime and mysteries, because reality is too much for me most of the time.)  I read about the Ice Cream killer, who may or may not be the Zodiac, as investigated by the son he abandoned, and the fact that the killer met his baby-mama in an Ice Cream Parlor. I started thinking that contemporary society hardly ever uses the word “parlor” unless it’s preceded by “Massage” or “Tattoo” or of course “Ice Cream”.

I think our Victorian Ancestors would be scandalized by our use  of the word.

Come to think of it, “Tattoo rat-hole” or “Questionable massage strip mall” or “Ice Cream hole ” wouldn’t encourage a lot of foot traffic.

My world is interesting and rarely boring.

 

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