My little sister loves ice cream.
‘ello loves. Top of this lovely Monday morning to you. For the sake of laughter, I thought I’d share with you my favorite story of my dear, adorable sister. She’s nine years my junior, which really means I just thought she was extremely annoying until the past few years
Let’s rewind to ’00 or ’01 when Tori was five or six. With three extremely picky children, our parents’ choice for dinner nights was the local buffet. Seriously, creepers, fancy schmancy dinners were at the Golden Corral – or was it Sirloin Stockade?
My sister is everything my opposite. As a child, her transparent locks framed her ocean eyes and complimented her dry sense of humor. T, who for the record has never met my sister (we should change that…), refers to her as sarcastic Barbie. ‘Tis true. Sarcastic and Barbie she is.
Tori has had a love affair with ice cream her entire life. During this particular dinner, she convinced my mother she was old enough to get her own ice cream. My mom gave her the usual talk, “only one trip for ice cream, Tori.”
She was gone for a long time. Long enough – we questioned whether or not someone should go look for her. If I know my family a game of “not me” ensued.
She returned - full size plate of chocolate and vanilla ice cream in hand. With only one allotted ice cream trip, she passed on the bowl and went for the plate.
The plate was stacked 7 or 8 inches high with quite the assortment of toppings.
She simply sat in her seat, picked up her spoon and began consuming a few thousand calories of Stillwater’s finest buffet ice cream.
Maybe that’s not as funny in print? Or, maybe you’re laughing because you just wasted a solid 3.2 minutes of your Monday morning?
I hope you push the boundaries, think outside of the bowl, dance to your own Mariah Carey cover.