Ice Cream

Sam likes to buy ice cream and then he never seems to want to eat it.

“Let’s have some ice cream,” I say. After dinner, when I’ve cleaned the kitchen.

“Oh, no, no, no, not tonight,” says Sam.

“What?” I try not to let my voice squeak with disappointment. “But…”

Sam waggles his finger.

“It’s not just for filling the freezer,” I say.

“You always want to eat it, as soon as we get it.”

“What else is it meant for?”

“Savouring, and enjoying…”

“Yes, but first you have to take it out of the tub,” I say. "That is the very essence of ice cream eating."

Sam Laughs.


Getting ice cream shouldn't be this hard, I think.

Sam always buys chocolate, without exception. It is me who is daring with the flavours, and if I don't choose carefully, wisely, criticism ensues. But, I hardly ever buy it, I hardly ever do the shopping. Sam shops and cooks, and I clean.

I could do an ice cream dance. Arms to one side, arms to the other side, hips in opposite direction. Ff ff, ff ff, ff ff, ff ff.

I could pull my most adorable face. See how cute I am. Yeah, no, nothing.

And funnily enough, not doing anything often works the best. It is when I completely forget about the frozen dairy treat in the freeze that Sam will say, "We have ice cream." Then there is no objection, there is no tutt tutt tutting, then it is clear sailing to the freezer and the desert bowls.

Sam will always add fruit, strawberries, or blueberries, where he pulls them from I have no idea.

Do you think it is a control issue?

Sam is ice cream in charge and I shouldn’t forget it.