Death by Ice Cream

Today was one of those days when everything got on my nerves. The darlings were pretty good, but they too were feeling the same vibe. Several times I would hear snipping and curt responses between all of them. Was it the oppressive humidity? The phase of the moon? The fact that there have been too few new Kim Possible episodes on the Disney Channel? Who knows?

In hopes of getting the fam out and about, (and me a little de-stressed), Darling Man took us to McDonald's to get everyone an ice cream. If you don't have a toddler/preschooler, you don't know the rule about NOT giving one of them an actual cone. You ask for "an ice cream cup." If not, the results are horrifying and will haunt you in your dreams.

Somehow, I, in my agitated state, ended up driving, and therefore dealing with the cretin on the ordering speaker. She actually handled multi-syllabic words pretty well. (I know you're now feeling my vibe), so the big green minivan pulled to the second window.

The fresh faced and empty headed highschooler (graduate? - I can only hope not) greeted us with my much needed grande diet coke, Darling Man's gourmet McFlurry, and three CONES!!!!!!!! Okay. At this point I could still deal, so I handed the cone back and speaking slowly, asked for three c-u-p-s, instead of cones. Perhaps genius-order-girl entered it wrong in McRegister. After some confused conferencing at the ice cream machine, we were given the original three ice cream cones jammed into cups - upside down!!!!! Regular cones weren't dangerous enough for little kids, but now they're expected to dig out the ice cream from under the cone in a cup. Oh no...that couldn't at all end up badly. Do you see where the idea of life-long imprisonment actually seemed reasonable in exchange for reaching through the window and shoving the upside-down cones up her nose?

I usually deal with McWorkers pretty well, even though most are not intellectually well endowed, but this was almost too much. After shooting rays out of my eyes, I demanded new ice creams in cups! You would have thought I'd asked her to fry me up a Tiffany diamond in the fryer. I couldn't see him, but I could feel Darling Man cringing because he knew this McChick had chosen the wrong minivan-driving-mom to mess with.

The great thing was that the darlings knew none of this was going on. They were happily anticipating the pseudo-ice-cream coolness. Needless to say, once I started nursing my diet coke, I felt a lot better. Ranting in the front seat to/at my Darling Man just made him laugh harder. I guess it turned out okay. I wonder if McChick knows how an ice cream cone almost killed her?