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It's Not Me- Midweek edition.
I do not ordinarily think the man who drives the ice cream truck around our neighborhood each summer night must be some kind of creep with no life. I have not thought this about him since the first time I heard his jingle bells ring to let all of the kids know that he was making his rounds.
He does not drive a tricked out revived from the junk yard ice cream truck. And, I do not secretly judge parents who give their kids money to have a face to face encounter with the ice cream man.
I do not listen to the ice cream jingle every night at 7:00 pm and make horrifically awful assumptions about a person I have never met.
Tonight, when I heard the familiar tune come rolling down the street I did not sprint into the bedroom and ask my husband if he wanted something.
He did not say "A Choco Taco please."
I did not scramble through the house, searching for loose change and dollar bills.
I was not so excited to see that I hadn't missed the ice cream man that I jumped up and down on our sidewalk and waved like some sort high school cheerleader.
When the ice cream man pulled over, I was not overcome with indecision about which ice cream bar to choose.
The ice cream man did not smile patiently at me while I searched and looked at each ice cream illustration, comparing and contrasting the Bomb Pop vs the one with the candy crunch center.
When I got back into the house, I did not realize I had no bra on.
I do not think the ice cream man is still creepy.
Awesome. I actually giggled outloud at the high school cheerleader part.
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