The Eskimo Pies melted on the street.

I had put them down between the car and the curb before going into the house and forgetting about them. They were the only thing Angie had asked for before I left for the store. They just put her foot in the cast the day before(magarita induced pogo stick accident).

The box was all deflated and melty, eskimo tears now. I could see them from the living room window running a sad course into the gutter. I didn't want to go back to the store.

"Babe, could I have my ice cream?"
"Uh, hold on," I said as I pretended get on my phone.
"Who you calling?"

I held up my hand as if I was on the line and then stepped out the front door. I was kind of screwed. She drank all that tequila the other night cause she was mad at me. I'd been way to into my model trains. I'll just leave it at that. I could already
hear her voice getting all high pitched. It always did before the passive agressivness started.

Then I heard salvation in the form of a tinny electronic version of pop goes the weasel. My, that man has good humour.