I thought about titling this The Strawberry Ice Cream War but I’m not sure if it has escalated to an all out war. Yet. Battle might even be a bit strong. Skirmish and ninja assault might be more accurate…
Some background first. Max, the oldest of my boys (20) loves strawberry ice cream. But not just any strawberry ice cream. The kind with no pieces of strawberries. Smooth. Pink. Perfect. The only place I’ve found such a thing is in the Neopolitan of a local creamery. Every so often I buy a container knowing full well that he will remove the entire center section of the ice cream with surgical precision.
My youngest son, J (9), was not aware of his big brother’s penchant for eviscerating ice cream. A few weeks ago, I made sure he got a bowl that had all the flavors so that when the inevitable happened he would already have had some of each. In hindsight, I probably should have also warned him about what would happen.
A day or two after we opened the carton, J decided he wanted some ice cream. When he saw the container with vanilla on one side, chocolate on the other, and complete nothingness in the middle, he lost his shit. The boy had a complete meltdown. I tried to explain that it was okay. In fact, expected. In between gasping for air. This was one of those moments when someone’s reaction was so over the top as to be hysterically funny. After a few minutes, he calmed down, had vanilla and chocolate and seemed to get how funny he had been. Everything went back to normal.
This past Friday I got a new container of Neopolitan. Over the weekend J had some ice cream. Never a lot at one time. But a couple of times. I didn’t notice exactly which flavor(s) he was scooping.
Tonight, my middle son, C (16) decided he’d like some ice cream. J is with his dad, so it was just me, C, and Max. C heads into the kitchen and a minute later exclaims, “What the hell?” When Max and I asked what was wrong, he brought the ice cream container out to show us the carton with no strawberry as it had crudely been scooped out along with most of the vanilla.
“Son of a bitch”, Max said under his breath right before we convulsed into laughter. Poor C hadn’t been there for J’s meltdown so we had to explain to him why his little brother sabotaged the ice cream. We laughed until it hurt.
I’m thinking I either need to split the strawberry next time, buy them each their own container, or find a brand that leaves out the strawberry pieces so I can get a whole container of the stuff. Otherwise, it will become an all out war.
I have to say though, J’s ninja skills were pretty impressive. It isn’t often someone eats much of anything that’s Max’s favorite without him knowing about it. Let alone all of it.
Max’s face when he saw it was priceless. I can’t wait to tell J about it.