Everything is going as planned until my pal and I hit the chowder place. The place has changed its hours. It closed a half hour before we get there. "No soup for you," is running through my head.
My pal and I reason that the soup probably had a lot of sodium in it (this is purely made-up speculation to appease our great disappointment), so we go with salads at an alternate location, instead.
After eating half of our salads, we decide we've had enough and will probably need dessert, so we decide to find an ice cream stand and have the first ice cream of the season. Oh, sure, it's not really that hot out, and sure, I've been sick even as recently as this morning, but I ... want ... ice ... cream ... now. When it comes to ice cream, patience is not one of my virtues.
We wrack our brains where to go, even going as far as looking for local spots via the Internet. We do a collective headslap when we see the posting for the nearby golf range which also sells ice cream. For some reason, we always forget about the ice cream portion of this establishment, and we opt to go there. Yup, our first seasonal ice cream is right in our own collective backyard.
I am almost ashamed to admit that the ice cream is so good and so engrossing, I forget to watch the Belmont Stakes. That's right. I pick chocolate chip cookie dough over the Triple Crown. Considering how I felt this morning compared to how I feel right now shoveling this ice cream in faster than if I just inhaled it, I feel like I just won the Triple Crown.
Seriously -- a little wine, a little salad, and a kiddie-sized cup of ice cream: that's the true Triple Crown, folks, and I win it. I win it all.
