When I was a little girl, my Granny lived on the east side of Milwaukee, and we would visit her often. She didn’t really have a yard for us to play in, but there was a paved area in front of the house where we could bounce balls and roller-skate. During the summer, one of the best things about being outside in the city versus the small town I lived in was the ice cream truck. My brother and I would hear the forever-repeating tune of Turkey in the Straw and know that frozen treats were on their way. We would alert my Granny to the truck’s proximity, and she would usually spring for some goodies.
One of my favorite things to get from the ice cream truck was an orange push-up. If you’re not familiar with push-ups, they are composed if sherbet (or sometimes ice cream) in a cylinder. You remove the top and use the stick at the base to push up the sherbet over the top edge of the cylinder so you can eat it. The invention of the push-up was, without a doubt, one of the greatest innovations in the portability of sherbet.
Well, one day, I got my push-up and happily began to lick away at it. Now, some people prefer to push up the sherbet a tiny bit at a time. I liked to live on the edge, pushing it up to expose most of the sherbet at once. Little did I know, my exuberance and recklessness were about to catch up with me. As I happily licked away, the sherbet cylinder broke free of its base and toppled to the ground. I stared helplessly at my beloved treat, melting on the ground and then at the empty tube in my hand which once held it. The ice cream truck was gone. No more sherbet for me. Oh, the humanity!
It was a traumatizing event, to be sure, but I learned valuable lessons that day. Don’t push up more than you can lick. Cherish your sherbet. For you never know when tragedy might strike and turn it into a pale orange puddle on the ground.