A Tale of Two Ice Cream Cones

ice cream

Being a teenager is a very special time in life for everyone on the planet (and possibly all those who live on other planets as well). For those of us who have long passed this stage, our memories keep it alive, and I have one very special recollection that I would like to share with all of you.

When I was about fifteen years old, I went to what was called in those days a “frat party” in Brooklyn, New York, where I was born and raised. I was with a girl friend, my sister and my mother, who picked us up from the party.

We were going to go straight home when we decided to take a detour and get some ice cream instead. They used to make a special kind of soft ice cream known as Carvel that was really delicious and quite unique. There were many Carvel ice cream shops scattered throughout all the boroughs of New York City.

Anyway, it was a warm Friday night in June, and the parking area near the Carvel stand was quite full. My mother parked across the street and I volunteered to cross the busy thoroughfare and bring back the ice cream (which by the way, I have never done since). My sister and friend didn’t want any so there were only two cones in this tale, one for my mother and one for me.

I was wearing my cutest cotton party dress that night, and in my mind’s eye I can still see the pink and white floral print with the wide skirt. After I purchased the ice cream, I walked to the corner and waited for the red light to change to green. I licked on my cone, which was chocolate with a chocolate topping (My ice cream preferences haven’t changed over the years, even though it would be a rather “rocky” and open road I was to momentarily find myself upon).

There was a subway grating very close to the corner, but I didn’t pay any attention to it. After all, it wasn’t bothering me, or at least so I thought. As the traffic light changed, I was about to step off the curb when a train passed underneath the grating, whooshing my dress up to my eyeballs and leaving me wearing only a pink slip!

I was startled and helpless to move, as my hands were filled with the two cones. My skirt remained up in the air for almost half a minute! It felt like an hour. When the train finally passed, I ran across the street, only to be greeted by three hysterical females whose appreciation for the event was all the greater because it hadn’t happened to them.

There were passing cars of teenage boys who noticed my most unusual predicament and turned it into their own Friday Night At The Movies. That made it all the more embarrassing, and I, who was usually a very talkative soul, was at a loss for anything to say for quite a while afterwards. After all, I had a cone to lick, and I had to do it quickly before the whole thing dripped down my arm and onto my dress.

All I can say is that if there is a moral to this story it can only be that wherever you go, whoever you are with and whatever you do, don’t ever forget to wear clean underwear!

(photos courtesy of Sapfirhik/Dreamstime.com)