As I drove out of the George's parking lot, everyone was happily sipping on his milkshake (except Rachel who chose a cone, unfortunately, as we will see), and I was wholly unsuspecting of what the near future held. It was dark and the headlights were bright as we sang and danced and I drove--simultaneously singing and dancing. You can't do one without the other, unless of course, you just sang, or danced, or drove, or drove and sang, or drove and danced, or danced and sang. Anyway. Back to our story. We laughed and giggled and had a fantastic time while we consumed an inordinate amount of calories disguised as a perfectly spun chocolate milkshake sent from heaven above. I guess Rachel had gotten a little too into the laughing contest because by this time, she wasn't laughing at all, but screaming "Ahhh!! There's ice cream all over me!" and so on and so forth.
Sure enough, she was right.
There was ice cream on the floor of my car, on the passenger seat of my car, on her pants (which were in my car), on the dashboard of my car, even on the window of my car. I was the epitome of calm and almost entirely forgot these travesties were occurring in my car. As these thoughts ran through my head, Rachel was scrambling out of her seat and somehow perched entirely on her two hands, closely resembling a monkey in its natural habitat. This image was not a little bit funny. It was a lot funny. The ice cream had slipped right out of the cone and into her seat. This left her no choice but to stuff the rest of the cone into her mouth. She had no choice, guys.
Sure enough, she was right.
There was ice cream on the floor of my car, on the passenger seat of my car, on her pants (which were in my car), on the dashboard of my car, even on the window of my car. I was the epitome of calm and almost entirely forgot these travesties were occurring in my car. As these thoughts ran through my head, Rachel was scrambling out of her seat and somehow perched entirely on her two hands, closely resembling a monkey in its natural habitat. This image was not a little bit funny. It was a lot funny. The ice cream had slipped right out of the cone and into her seat. This left her no choice but to stuff the rest of the cone into her mouth. She had no choice, guys.
Meanwhile, there was a voice from the backseat. "Um? I think my pants are wet." It was Will. Is this real life? I thought for the thousandth time. Unfortunately, all I could do from the wheel was to glance back and tell him everything would be okay. And breathe. I couldn't forget to breathe. Rachel had to surrender her ice dream endeavor to check his pants.
Dry.
Praise to the heavens! There was only one problem: a hole in his milkshake, and ice cream dripping all over the backseat. Oh yeah, did I mention we were in my car?
Dry.
Praise to the heavens! There was only one problem: a hole in his milkshake, and ice cream dripping all over the backseat. Oh yeah, did I mention we were in my car?
This too shall pass. I kept my eyes on the road and thought of things to be thankful for.
The sky is not falling.
The aliens have not invaded.
My tires are not flat.
His pants are still dry.
So are hers.
So are mine.
Rachel's…were.
Pretty soon, I felt fairly cheered up and you might say my middle name is Calm. And Awesome. But that's another story for another time.
Soon enough, everyone was fairly wiped off and only a little sticky and we were singing, dancing, and laughing yet again. We made it home alive and well. And there's only the faintest bit of ice cream residue on my passenger seat.
I'm glad I'm not a Mommy yet. I'll stick with my full-time job, thank you.
