I scream, you scream...we all scream for.... ice cream? ice cream trucks? My beloved lady chiropractor adjusting the wife? Japanese beetles devouring the rose bushes? Favre in Viking Purple? All of the above? This is the blog I had intended to post before Mr. Favre-o-roid shot back onto the scene. For inquiring minds, the wife is NOT over this nor is she okay with this. She is a woman scorned. Hell hath no fury like a scorned Packer Fan. I'm just sayin'. Anyways, back to I scream, you scream. I would take time to talk about the wife going to see My Beloved Lady Chiropractor as part of this blog entry, but I think that I'd like to dedicate an entire blog entry to that, so you'll have to wait to learn more. (I am disappointed to say that the wife is not one bit smitten or impressed with MBLC. Sigh. So sad.) Last weekend, I was standing by the wife's beautiful rose bushes, in full bloom, fragrance filling the air. I bent over to get a good sniff....when....that's when I saw them. Beetles. The Japanese Beetles. FRIGGIN' JAPANESE BEETLES FROM HELL! Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, I'm sure I popped a vein. They're back and now they have moved on to ruining the roses. A closer look showed that the bushes were COVERED with the things. It was disgusting--literally ten of them piled on top of each other on some buds. I was incensed. How dare they mess with the wife's gorgeous roses? I was filled with venom and hatred. The sky became black and stormy with how much venom I was spewing forth.... I started FLICKING them off with my fingers, shooting them as hard as I could into the siding on the house. While this left bug juice on my nails at times, I didn't care. I just like hearing them SMACK into the siding and then bounce to the ground. It was quite satisfying. I was on the verge of hysterics, I will admit. I was swearing and muttering, quite upset about the whole return of the bug, hating everything about them...... That's when I heard it. The soft, happy music wafting in the summer night's air. I stopped flicking long enough to listen more closely. I knew that sound. It brought back instant memories of my childhood. Instant. When I say it stopped me in my tracks, I am not exaggerating. It was getting closer.....it was.... ...an ice cream truck! I thought maybe I was more hysterical than I realized, but a few additional seconds of listening assured me that I was not having auditory hallucinations--there was an ice cream truck approaching our street. I totally forget about the beetles and went running--yes, running, bare feet and all--toward the front yard. As I saw the truck slowly turn on to our street, I waved down the driver. I was giddy with delight! I think I may have jumped up and down once or twice. I wildly pointed my finger in the air, as if to yell, "HANG ON A SECOND!" and frantically tried to open the garage door. I had to get my wallet out of the car and didn't want this guy to drive on by. I was so excited, I couldn't get the door open. I waved at him again, basically BEGGING him not to drive further. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE wait for me! I wasn't hungry. I didn't have an actual taste for ice cream. I had a taste for my history, my childhood, my innocence and youth. How can you hear that sound and not want to go running toward it? How can you hear that sound and not instantly become happy? I got my money and crossed the street, still bare-footed, still sporting bug juice-stained nails. "I'll have a drum stick and one of those," pointing to one of those ice cream bars on a stick with the fake chocolate center and the crunchy things on the outside. (Figured I best buy something for the wife.) I was so happy, I almost bought ice cream for the dogs. At first, I was worried the guy might think I was nuts; but, after a milli-second, I realized that there were probably plenty of people my age chasing after his truck. I chirped about how I didn't think ice cream trucks existed any more and professed my excitement for him being there. Beetles? What beetles? I was filled with love and laughter and joy; I didn't have room in my being for hatred or thoughts of beetles. I had ice cream from an ice cream truck! As I noticed his music was no longer playing, I said, "Hey, you stopped singing!" He wasn't a very fun ice cream truck driver. He scowled at me, trying to figure out what I meant. "The music," I said. "You're not playing your music." Mr. IC Driver assured me there is some city ordinance forbidding his truck from singing while pulled over (to hawk ice cream to 40 and 50 year olds, he should have added). As I didn't think ice cream trucks even existed any more, I was surprised that anyone would have thought to make ordinances about such vehicles. "That'll be five dollars," he growled. Well, ice cream certainly costs a bit more than when I was a child, but it was totally, totally worth it. I could have gone to the store and purchased entire boxes of ice cream for what I was paying, but that's not the point..... The point is that THIS ice cream came to ME from an ICE CREAM TRUCK. I took the ice cream in the house and presented it to the wife and we ate our ice cream in blissful, beetle-free silence. I have been smiling ever since. I haven't seen--or heard--him since then, but I know he'll be back. Is life good or what? ********************************************************************* I hope the ice cream truck drives by again soon. The wife could use a little ice cream right about now. That, and an enima or a shot of whiskey or a shotgun or something like that. Just don't wear purple when you are around her. And, for god's sake, don't say the five-lettered "F" word. *********************************************************************