A half-eaten soft ice cream cone called to Izzy in the night. He awoke an over an hour early from his slumber, sat upright in bed and quietly asked, "Is my ice cream still in the freezer? Did you eat it?" Then he leapt from bed, ran upstairs to check on it, certain that the sweets monster had come to gobble it up in the night. But it was still there (In the past I might have eaten it but I am learning to exercise a bit of self-control, especially since the fudge incident).
What was so wonderful about this soft ice cream cone? It is only the second time he has ever had soft ice cream. I suppose you think that strange too. I have an uneasy relationship with soft ice cream that goes back many years. Although I ate gallons of it as a teenager, back then I paid no heed to health. Now that I know it is laden with chemicals, corn syrup and other unhealthy ingredients I prefer to stay away from it and I certainly don't want Izzy eating it on a regular basis. By the beach, where soft ice cream reigns, I decided that a few times yearly would be fine.
I hope I haven't hatched a soft ice cream monster, who will be forever dreaming of its creamy goodness.