I read a headline the other day that said if I eat a lot of ice cream I’m going to die soon. But a different headline on a different day said that if I play tennis I’m going to outlive everyone. It stands to reason that the two cancel each other out, which means I might live to a standard age, which isn’t really all that great considering my dad turns 80 on Saturday and he’s already outlived the standard by not playing tennis and by eating ice cream. The jury, it seems, is still very much out.
But about the ice cream shops. About the late summer chill in the evening air. About baseball and football airing at the same time. I want to praise the small ice cream shops in nearby little towns. Anyone can buy a Culver’s franchise, assuming you meet the capital requirements and the owner is selling. But to operate a small shop in a left behind town, now that’s something commendable. I’m not talking about resort towns, either. Fancy shops with $9 designer cones dipped in white chocolate and then coated in crushed pistachios are not the sort I’m after. I’m after the shops I’ve never visited, the ones in the little towns that I hurry through. The one in Darien on the Main Street, if there is such a thing there. The one in Sharon off the main road a little ways, perhaps that’s the real Main Street and the one I drive on is just the one that people who aren’t from there think is the main one. The one in Hebron that I passed the other day because I was lost and trying to find a place where I could buy organic meats but instead just found this little corner ice cream shop that looked like it belonged on the square in Hill Valley. I don’t stop at these shops. But someday I hope to, if I can find the time. When I do, I’ll let you know.