It should have been an easy task – to choose an ice-cream that I would enjoy when we visited Mila’s home for dinner. The strawberry and chantilly attracted my attention and I duly retrieved it from the freezer, carefully sliding the freezer’s lid so as not to disturb an innocent bystander who was clearly having an internal debate about the flavours on offer.
Images of fine lace flitted in my mind, alternating with images of a small South American Rodent – and at one point the two images unnervingly co-existed.
Maybe the fruits of the forest would be a better choice, my wife helpfully offered. Back to the freezer lid, replacing the strawberry and chantilly and retrieving a tub of fruits of the forest.
Maybe the Black forest ice-cream would be an even better choice, my wife helpfully offered. She asked me what was in it. I guessed at cherries with maybe a bit of chocolate. Lovely. Back went the fruits of the forest, out came the Black forest, and the constant sliding of the freezer’s lid probably added to the consternation of the other woman trapped in a vicious cycle of indecision.
My guess was correct. Cherries and chocolate bits.
Maybe the strawberry and chantilly would be a better choice, my wife helpfully offered….
At some point, I muttered that I thought the task had been to choose for myself, but thankfully the words fell quietly into the freezer and they are probably still there – a frozen silent scream among the ice-creams to warn others of the perils of free-choice.