I never even knew that song existed until I found an ice cream man of my very own...
"There's a guy driving by down the street - he's the Ice Cream Man, see - and I
think we should meet.
Turns out he's nice. And he's sweet, kinda cute, a good kisser to boot, and he brings
me free treats.
But without all his bipolar meds, too much weed, and that pesky former felony...
I'm still thinking...is it Taco Time for me?"
I have a theory. You have to give every guy a chance. A chance to what, you ask? To show me he is worthy of my precious time & my affections. Why, a chance to show me he's "the one", of course!
Ahem... yeah. I didn't say it was a good theory. (I have since abandoned said theory after a friend questioned my sanity. Let's play along anyway, shall we?)
In my sadly vast dating experience I have, more than once, opened the floodgates to a sea of song-worthy men. You just never know, I'd say (countless times). Insert name here isn't so bad, and hey, I'm not getting any younger. And so I would humor whatever random male passerby it was that paid me interest.
Enter Ice Cream Man.
I always thought I'd end up dating a guy who drove an ice cream truck... said Heather never in life. But he was so darn charming! He really was. He obviously likes kids. Hell, he'd even met mine already. And his aloof-ish nature and long hair and unfortunately (for me that I noticed) kissable lips. Yeah, so maybe it had been a little (a LONG) while since I'd dated someone (YEARS), but maybe driving an ice cream truck was just a... childhood dream? An actual choice? Surely not based upon his utter lack of employability.
I don't remember exactly how it happened, but he started driving down my street more often, and the free frosty treat was occasionally handed my way. And at some point he asked if we could hang out. You know, without a dirty, metal ice cream counter in between us. Annnd he already knew where I lived, so what the hell. I mean, I'd be crazy not to take him up on his offer of a pseudo date/hangout thingy, right? Right? Ahem... yeah...
It was simple. He just came by one night after work. It was spring/summer, so we sat out on the front lawn. It was really more like a strip of sidewalk and a strip of grass and some railroad ties before a steep 3 foot drop to the main sidewalk but I digress. Sitting there, he asks if I smoke. I say no, but I don't mind if he does (which is mostly true), at which point he pulls out a joint. "You don't mind if I smoke some weed, do you?" "Nah, it's fine." Okay, I'm gonna let that slide. Nothing wrong with a little weed. But as the weed burned and his lungs blackened his tongue loosened and he began to talk about his tea-partying burn the government theories and about how robbing that McDonald's at gunpoint when he was 17 really screwed him over.
Go on... (Because clearly I haven't seen enough red flags flying over his head yet. It was dark out, though. Maybe I missed them.)
He continued the elegiac ramblings of how he wished he could go back to prison because it was easier there, and how he wished he could stop talking to his crazy baby mama but all his disability checks still show up at her address and he needs those. Oh, and how he's diagnosed with bipolar but he doesn't take his meds because eh... he doesn't usually need them really.
I can't even begin to explain how this moved from a casual chat over some weed in the front yard to a make out session. But it happened. And geez, I called those lips. He is still, hands down, one of the best kissers I've ever had the pleasure to tangle with. Being such, I couldn't rightly justify not hanging out with him and kissing him some more. So in flew the rationalizations and justifications for all of the what should have been obvious shortcomings for a professional gal such as myself. They were SO convincing. Convincing enough to stave off my good senses for... a good long while. He wasn't a total deadbeat, either. He totally bought me Subway once. Oh, and he put a bandaid on my knee when I tripped and fell up the sidewalk after leaving the salon one time. So sweet! Hey, I never said I didn't have issues.
This went on for months and months. He'd drive by and sell ice cream to the kids and give me some smooches for free. We never actually went much further. Could be because in all my infinite stupidity I at least had the good sense to keep him north of the equator, where all self-respecting ice cream men stay. Eventually, though, I got my fill of his delicious ice cream kisses, or at least enough of them to tide me over for the next good long while until the next Taco Time alum would waltz by.
And that is the end of the Tale of the Ice Cream Man. He's still out there, girls. Peddling his frozen wares, or perhaps some smoky ones (a guy has to have a secure income, after all). Hell, I'm pretty sure he's still my friend on facebook. I'll hook you up.
As always, thanks for reading, friends. And sorry for the lateness and sporadic nature of my blogs lately. If you know me, though, you know it's the nature of the beast that I am. Don't worry. You will grow to love me for it someday.
Oh yes! YOUR TURN! What is the worst, most ridiculous thing you have overlooked for the sake of a date/boyfriend/booty call? Don't leave me hangin', kids.
NEXT UP on TACO TUESDAY: Why accents are so hot OR why the human voice is such a big fat liar