I waited all day and in fact, all week. Finally at three o'clock today, the ice cream truck pulled up outside our building. We had planned to have it come and if there is enough interest, it will come all summer long, every Wednesday at three. I felt like a little kid as I rushed outside to see the pictures on the side of the truck and make my selection. There must have been a thousand choices, toasted almond, sprinkles, choco-taco, Nestles Crunch, Spongebob, whoever else is the leading cartoon of the moment, and every size and shape of popsicle you can imagine. I almost wanted to get more than one because they all looked so yummy.

I remember when I was little and the ice cream truck would come down the street, bell ringing. I'd hear that bell all the way down the street and I would gasp with the giddy excitement that you can only feel when the ice cream truck is the fulfillment of all of your worldly dreams. I would dig through pockets and look under furniture, scraping together dimes, quarters, handfuls of change, and run outside to the truck. I would look longingly at all the pictures and inevitably I would settle on something that was most likely blue with gumball eyes, sometimes shaped like a ghost if I recall correctly, and sometimes not, but always melty and sweet and resulting in an inevitable blue tounge.

Today, though I paid with actual paper money and selected a more subdued black rasberry ice cream with chocolate coating, I still felt that Pavlovian rush of excitement from the ringing bell as I hurried outside to the ice cream truck.   ¶ 4:40 PM