This is an old story so the details may be a bit fuzzy. I was positive I shared this story on my old blog but I couldn't find it anywhere. It's possible the blogger search didn't bring up that particular story. My apologies if I am repeating myself.
We have lived in our current location for close to 13 years. My middle child, Allison, was four months old when we moved in. At the time, the make-up of the neighborhood was a bit different. There weren't a lot of young families. We were smack dab in the middle of the geriatric set.
There are no sidewalks in our neighborhood. There are no portable basketball nets. There are few children playing in the streets. All of this means an ice cream truck considers our neighborhood a sheer waste of time. Number one, there aren't enough kids. Number two, senior citizens are either too smart to pay two dollars for a single serving ice cream or they are too slow to chase down the truck. I rather think it's the former.
My children did know what an ice cream truck was, but that was from visiting the grandparents. There are ice cream trucks galore in their neck of the woods.
I'm quite positive we only had two kids at the time. This was probably when Allison was about two or three years old. Every parent of young children knows that getting a chance to have any kind of adult fun is very rare. Young children are rarely far behind you. They dog your every step. They look under the door while you are pooping, assuming they aren't in the bathroom while you are pooping.. They make Mrs. Kravitz from Bewitched look like an amateur.
By the time they are down for the night, that nooky you have been fantasizing about during the day is replaced with fantasies of precious, precious sleep. It's actually a wonder that any of us have more than one kid.
One weekend afternoon, Jennifer, our oldest, was visiting a friend. Allison was entranced in an episode of Blue's Clues. We felt brave and giddy. We felt like maybe we could use the next five minutes to good advantage. We felt horny.
The husband and I sneaked down the hall and locked our door. We ripped off our clothes. We started going at it like the William Tell Overture. Suddenly, right at the crucial moment, small footsteps pounded down the hall. NOOOOOO!
A small hand pounded at our door.
"ICE CREAM TRUCK. I HEAR AN ICE CREAM TRUCK!"
"No Allison, YOU DON'T HEAR AN ICE CREAM TRUCK! They NEVER come through this neighborhood!"
"I HEAR AN ICE CREAM TRUCK!"
"Go away Allison. There is no ice cream truck!"
"I HEAR AN ICE CREAM TRUCK. I WANT ICE CREAM!"
It was no use. Clothes were hastily thrown on. We left the room.
Of course by then the ice cream truck had toodled down the street. It was probably a good thing too. We might have been forced to kill that fucker.
