Sub-Zero Ice Cream

We had to wrap up extra warm yesterday before we went to the local post office counter to send some parcels, as it was so cold outside I’d popped out moments earlier in just a t-shirt to put something in the bin, and ended up having my nipples cut a zig zag pattern out of the front of my shirt before I managed to jiggle my way back into the house.
After making sure that we’d all wrapped up in a suitable amount of Arctic proof layers, we took off down the street to the local shop where the post office counter was now based, and took our place in the queue waiting. Of course because we were wrapped up so warmly and were starting to sweat a little under the harsh halogen lighting, The Destroyer’s attention was drawn to the nearby fridge full of ice creams, designed in such a way that it’s at eye level to the average toddler who may be bored as shit waiting for their parents to finish their postal business.

Before we could intervene, he ripped himself free of our grip and clambered up the frozen display like a demented spider monkey, clinging to the handles in a death grip that would rival a crocodile bite. If it hadn’t been for the interference from the shop assistant Beth, he’d have started smashing his forehead into the screen separating him from the frozen goodies, and ended up with a face full of shattered glass chunks and Cornetto wrappers.

“Hiya Angus, are you being a little pest today then?” Suddenly under Beth’s friendly gaze he’s as innocent as the freshly driven snow, and makes out that he was merely wiping a speck of dirt off the glass with his sleeve. Never explaining the 3 litres of drool and bite marks he’s plastered all over the opening handle and hinges trying to get into the creamy delights inside.

“Well, I was just very tired and an ice cream would make me feel a lot more waked up.”

Ooh, you’re cunning boy. He even did the ‘Puss in Boots from Shrek’ eyes that turned every customer within a ten metre radius into mere putty in his sweaty mitts. Beth looked at us with judging eyes, eyes that without the accompaniment of words demanded to know why we would deny this kind and gentle soul a mere lick of a small ice cream.. I’m pretty sure I saw the pensioner behind us tighten her grip on her walking stick and eye up exactly the best points on my groin where her well aimed cane would cause the most injury should I not submit to this wide eyed and innocent angel before her.

So it was ten minutes later we left the shop with a massive ‘Flake’ ice cream being rammed into The Destroyer’s face, despite the fact that it was roughly 0°C outside. Beth waved us off as we walked out into the cold, and I’m pretty sure she and Destroyer discreetly winked at each other in victory while he grinned from ear to ear through a mask of half sooked ice cream coating his lower jaw.  It was probably halfway home before the sugar started to really do a number on his cerebellum, his eyes went as wide as plates and he started to speak in tongues, and god help me if he didn’t bust out an unintentional Moonwalk so sweet, the spirit of Michael Jackson himself would be weeping into his glittering spectral gloves whilst pouring out some ‘Jesus Juice’ onto the sidewalk of damnation in celebration.

By the time we got to the traffic crossing not far from our home he was properly vibrating, the ice cream becoming little more than a gooey paintbrush with which he could paint his lower face with a mixture of melted Flake and the snotters that ran down his face due to the icy wind that battered us. Every car, lorry, bus and plantpot was being waved at like they were his long lost best friends, and holding his hands caused my lower arm to vibrate so much I’m pretty sure he shook loose a couple of my fillings..

So we stopped and talked about our options, and it was decided. We went straight to his grandparents house and let him loose like a rabid dog, where he straight away clambered up his grandfather and got him in a pretty sweet Full Nelson.

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