Flavor #32 — A local ice cream parlor invites you to create a new wacky flavor. It needs to channel the very essence of your personality. What’s in it?
Over the many years of my mortal life, I have confessed sins, admitted faults, spoken of my darker thoughts. But never have I publicly confessed the full extent of my strangeness, this peculiar idiosyncrasy which sets me apart from humanity.
I stand before you to tell you the truth. I am not merely non-human, alien and weird. I am an ice-cream cone.
You might never have guessed it just looking at me, but as I stand here before you under the hot television lights, I am melting, pooling and like my pal Frosty The Snowman, I could completely vanish before your very eyes, leaving nothing but a mess of sticky stuff on the ground where once I stood.
Although I started life as a double scoop of chocolate, I soon developed serious fruity tendencies, experimenting first with common, garden-variety strawberry, then advancing into the dangerous territories of rhubarb and gooseberry. I bottomed out with Shibui Ginger in the mid 1960s. That was when I realized I tasted less like ginger and more like Palmolive soap. I was horrified at how far I’d fallen.
After long years of therapy, I have pulled back from the dangerous and exotic world of fruits and retreated to French Vanilla. I have even abandoned true ice cream-hood for a nutritious, less rich (and lactose-free) world of frozen yogurt.
No longer a thrill seeker, I find solace in half-gallon containers bought from the grocery store without so much as a sugar cone to give me form. I urge all of you secret cones out there to join me in openly acknowledging your true nature. Don’t melt alone!
In unity, there is strength.
And now, back to my refrigerator. I’m melting … melting … melting …