I rushed through the front door with a carton of Rocky Road ice cream in my hand. “I know you all don’t really like chocolate, but I wanted Rocky Road,” I told my hosts who were sitting in the living room.
They looked at me in dismay. “Did we say we didn’t like chocolate? Are you telling us you got Rocky Road because you thought we wouldn’t eat any of it?”
“No – I’m saying my night was that good that I needed some Rocky Road ice cream.”
“Uh-oh,” they said. “That bad, huh?”
“I’ll tell you about it over ice cream,” I said as I walked off to the kitchen. I pulled three white bowls out of the cabinet, filled a cup with hot water and stuck the ice cream scoop in it. I peeled open the carton and proceeded to drop not one but two successive scoops of ice cream on the floor. Isn’t there some old wives tale that if you drop things you’re pregnant? God help me.
I put the dishes on the dining room table and then returned to the kitchen to pull out the toppings: Heath Bar pieces, Grand Marnier, Kahlua. Not until I moved in with my hosts had I ever seen anyone pull out liquor as an ice cream topping. What can I say? It’s not something we offered our customers at my father’s Dairy Queen….
My hosts joined me at the dining room table. If you peeked in the window that night, you would have seen a 35-year-old woman spilling the details of her latest adventure/drama to her 70-plus year old hosts. You would have seen lots of laughing, perhaps a few tears, and a healthy dose of advice and wisdom being administered. You might have wondered: are those her grandparents? Nope. They’re not related. In fact, I only met them seven months ago. But that’s a whole other story.
After spilling the details of my evening, my hosts said – not for the first time – “You’re better than television.”
Every once in a while I talk about finding a place of my own. “You don’t have to leave yet,” they say. “Besides, if you left, what we do for entertainment?” And who would I eat Rocky Road ice cream with at 9:30 on a Tuesday night?