Every time I see someone walking down the street licking an ice cream cone, I think, I want to be walking down the street licking an ice cream cone.
It happened tonight on my way to work, so I stopped to get a cone. It’s been happening a lot, actually. So much so that I expect the guy at McDonald’s to see me and ask, “The usual?” And then I’d get embarrassed. But I think he likes being able to make my ice cream cone. He always looks so proud of the cone he’s produced when he hands it to me. Tonight the ice cream looked so perfect that I thought I should compliment him on his craftsmanship. But I didn’t.
Leaving the store with my cone, I felt like I was in an advertisement. The ones that make the world seem idyllic because one person will do one nice thing for another person and then that person is inspired to do a nice thing and the happiness and love carries on like waves on an unpolluted beach. The McDonald’s guy put extra care into my cone, which made me happy, and then on the sidewalk I saw that a man had dropped a wad of cash, so I said, “Did you know you dropped that?” and pointed to his wad of cash, and he said, “Thank you!” and maybe he went on and pulled a woman away from a speeding taxi cab just before it crashed into her and broke her. But I kept walking so I didn’t see. Then a woman with a cane was approaching me on the same sidewalk, mere steps from the wad of cash guy, and she was laughing like she was full of life, the way that crazy people laugh when there’s no obvious thing to be laughing about. But just after she passed me, she exclaimed, “Look at how she be licking that ice cream cone!” So it turned out she was laughing at me. And that filled me with joy. Because she was right. I was really licking that ice cream cone.
(Note: I apologize for this post being an advertisement for McDonald’s ice cream cones, but I like them, despite the corporation that produces them and the terrifying list of ingredients.)