What happened to the Good Humor man? I don't mean, why is he sometimes a woman; what I mean is, what happened to the Good and especially the Humor? Saturday at the pool, the ice cream truck came. (In fact, it came every hour, until I wanted to throttle someone with the nearest SpongeBobsicle. Mark my words: There will be an ice cream truck-rage incident if this continues.)
No doubt driving one of these trucks is a thankless job (a job I'm sure I wanted when I was seven, because I thought one of the benefits was unlimited access), although the kids are always happy and remember...when prodded...to say thank you. The parents of the youngest kids wait in line with the hangdog expression that says it's too dang hot to have the argument, again, and when will they start carrying beer on that truck, anyway? The parents of the older kids hand out soggy bills and run the other way.
So on Saturday, the woman behind the wheel reminded me of the witch from the Hansel and Gretel story AFTER she reveals her true colors and threatens to bake the kids in the oven. Has this always been the case, and I just didn't notice when I was a kid? Did the music warning of the truck's imminent arrival always sound disturbingly off-key, like the music they play in horror flicks over scenes with children in them, to let you know that SOMETHING IS TERRIBLY WRONG?
Wasn't the truck clean and tidy in the olden days? When the door slid open, you'd move as close as possible to feel the frosty air that was inside.
I mean, the last thing you want when you're handed your Nutty Buddy is a tight shot of the female purveyor's thick sweaty armpit hair. And this is not armpit hair that is making a political or life style statement.
Trust me.