Cones are good. Cones are a good way to go. Like, there’s the environmental angle…not a cup. We are 100% edible and that’s a nice thing to be. Also, humans may not recognize this, but being in a cone is the only place in public where you can get licked by someone and it’s totally acceptable. I mean, take almost any other inanimate object involving humans, walking down the street together, and if there is licking involved it’s weird. But an ice cream cone? No one questions it. And it’s actually nice and velvety for me. And everyone kinda just accepts it.
Even when it goes bad, like if there is poor technique and I’m dripping all over the hands, or smudged up against some kid’s face, there is usually some laughter. It sort of feels like they are my tears dripping, but they are really happy tears. Like I can’t stop crying at how wrong this is going and then maybe, whoops, i’m upside down on the ground.
I’m a Häagen-Dazs Salted Caramel flavour ice cream. You know what I like about being ice cream? Joy. Like, there’s a lot of good times shared over ice cream. Kids love me. Parents love me. Pretty much everyone loves me. And not only that, i’m like, one of the premium brands. I guess I’ve had all of this privilege. So why do I sometimes feel so down?
I guess the older I get, the more complicated things seem and there isn’t anyone to blame. Like, why did I get made with the finest ingredients to taste so good? And do I add more good to the world than I take away? I do my best, but, when I look at all of the obesity in the world, and the type 2 diabetes mellitus, and the dental carries. Tick, Tick, Tick. Guilty. It just makes me wonder if I’m really necessary.
There are self image issues. I’m fat. But you know what? I accepted that about me. I’m 17 percent fat, mostly made of sugar, and I’m ok with that today.
Another existential question is my identity. Like, sometimes, I feel like a fraud. You know that umlaut? The two little dots? Well, like, I’m not even really German. I’m Germanish. Also, I’m not meant to be Germanish, I’m meant to be Danish. But it gets weirder, because I was made in America and my name doesn’t mean anything in particular. I’m a creature like the Jabberwocky. And I remember reading that Lewis Carol Poem and feeling like, God, he’s describing me! The closest associations aren’t flattering. So I guess I feel a little like a phony for a premium brand ice cream. An exercise in marketing. But you know what? I kinda like my umlaut. Like, it kinda feels like i’m wearing a hat. And I like dressing up and feeling dapper. I’m a dandy. And that’s something else I just accept about myself today.
I’m premium. But i’m old-premium. I can’t help that. I suppose my hayday was in the 1980s and 1990s. I was really coming into my own during the VHS days with sophisticates who wanted to watch Woody Allen movies and foreign films.
The new premiums like Ben and Jerry’s and some of the independents are just a different generation. I guess they are doing great things for ice cream. Gen Netflix.
I’m second in line for the premiums these days. I heard an executive describe me as a cost effective premium alternative to Ben and Jerry’s. It felt too business and commercial and really hurt my feelings. Like being ice cream just wasn’t good enough.
I’ve been to therapy and it helps a bit. It’s weird that a lot of people use me for therapy. And that kinda has this beautiful symbiotic component. It makes me feel like maybe we all do need each other after all.
Like Ben and Jerry’s, yeah, they are good. Perhaps the GOAT of the ice cream world. Not my thing, but, hey, you gotta give credit where it’s due. I think it’s a bit gaudy myself. Too sweet. A bit postmodern. It’s so weird how we’re pretty much made of all of these same ingredients, but the textures and the combinations make us popular. That’s life I guess.
I like that I’m made from simple ice cream. Some of our flavours have these basic ingredients floating inside. Almonds. A little chocolate. And at just the right temperature, we just get to wrap around the almond and offer it a snuggle and support. Hug an almond. And we’re a good combination. For me, it’s a good way to be eaten. Unfortunately, almonds don’t like it very much. They are in a state of cryogenic hibernation when frozen, but then they awaken to these gnashing teeth. It’s tough to see actually and makes you question if there is a God after all. Terrible for the almonds.
Toppings. I’m for them. Like I said though, maybe it’s genetics, or perhaps it’s cultural. It kinda makes me feel like I’m playing dress up. Like it’s halloween or christmas or thanksgiving. A special event. Bit of a beard of whipped cream. Cherry feels like a bow tie. Something about the right textures that can make it a nice experience. I heard from someone that’s how sandwiches feel. All about the textures and subtle combinations.
It’s nice being warm and melty, but not too melty. It makes the scooping kinda smooth and nice. Sometimes I just wish I could let people know that, hey, just take me out of the freezer for a bit. Like 10 minutes. Nicer for you, nicer for me. And if I’m too frozen, like, yeah. It hurts. It’s hard to scoop. Spoons bend. Slow down the emotional eating. How would you feel if someone tried to stick a hard metal object through you? Huh?
Overall it’s a good life. Ice creams like things, other comfort foods, pizza. You know how there is no such thing as bad pizza? Even when it’s bad, it’s good. Well, same with ice cream. I’ve heard humans do this with sex, but, I was created asexually. Interestingly, that’s also how I prefer to leave this world. Like, no sex involved. Sometimes, humans make us watch, on the couch, and I gotta say it’s weird and gross. Get a room people. So I just try to concentrate on the movie, or think of other things. Hum a song and look the other way.
And that’s my story. I’m available in tubs and cones and at premium stores and it’s pretty good being ice cream.
okanythingwhatever 