We headed to the local gelato parlour a few blocks from our house. The girl holding my hand, walking beside me and the husband pushing the boy in the stroller. We waited in line and I explained repeatedly to the girl why we had to wait at the end of the line instead of the front. We bought two kid cones. One vanilla and one strawberry.
By the time we reached the park the gelato had started to melt and drip onto the kids' fingers and hands and clothes. They didn't mind.
When the strawberry gelato melted below the top of the girl's waffle cone she handed it to me. Didn't she want to eat it, I thought to myself perplexed. I was happy to have it but couldn't believe that she was done. There I realized that she thought the gelato was done. Usually the ice cream treats she had were served up at home in a bowl. This was her first ice cream cone and she didn't know that she could eat it along with the sweet goodness inside. So I held the cone in front of her and showed her how she could bite into it. She did. Happily.
The boy ate some of his gelato, but left most of it for me. This was a good thing. Because while the girl was thrilled to consume her gelato and cone, I was less than thrilled to be wearing mine. Sick boys, even those that haven't thrown up in over six hours, should apparently not eat gelato.