I love ice cream. Doesn’t matter if it’s ninety degrees out or nine - I’m always in the mood for ice cream.
I’m guessing that my love of ice cream is inherited. My father, who’s not big on sweets, loves ice cream too. Growing up, we always had ice cream in the freezer. He’d scoop it into cake cones for us to eat on the patio in the summer, or into dishes for us to eat at the table before bed - as long as we didn’t clang the spoon endlessly against the bottom of the dish, trying to scrape up the last few drips.
My love for ice cream was well-known among my friends - and my friends’ mothers. When my friend Jamie’s mother made out her grocery list, she asked Jamie what MY favorite ice cream flavor was.
When my parents told me to get a job the summer before I started college, I headed straight for Friendly’s and got a job scooping ice cream. Read on …


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