Two types of Hot Fudge Sundaes from the ice cream shop below us.
I seldom allow myself treats from the ice cream shop downstairs but on this day, I broke down. A Hot Fudge sundae on a chilly day sounded perfectly decadent. On this particular day, unbeknownst to me, the only day in several years that I felt a strong desire to treat myself to a dessert, the hot fudge machine would not be working. I asked my mate if he'd be willing to go down and fetch the warming dessert, with any chocolate ice cream flavor. He obliged and minutes later came rushing in with not one but two ice cream flavor choices! For a moment I thought I'd died and gone to heaven, but after tasting, realized the fudge was..... cold. Oh yeah, he apologized that the machine was broken, my mate said nonchalantly as if it wasn't the most important element of the sundae. My heart sank, I was speechless. I felt slighted by life and my husband and that kid in the shop. This tragedy felt so rich is symbolism and I could hear operatic music playing in my head. With everything that is happening to people in the world, in America, here in New York, even in my little small circle of friends, how could I react so selfishly to something so relatively trivial when real problems plague good people. What felt like an hour was probably just a moment of silence to recover and when P asked me how they were, so proud of himself, that he was kind enough to run downstairs and fetch these for his woman, I reluctantly smiled and said, So good!!! All the while, I secretly wallowed in my own misery. I resented my husband for not realizing the severity of this calamity. He didn't even get the flavor of the ice cream right! Why does God punish me? I seem to get life lessons through these cruel little symbolic jokes. Ice cream yes, hot fudge no, chocolate ice cream, no. Broken hearted but torn between knowing how close I was to pure joy but how these are not real problems.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?