Peppermint ice cream makes me exist fully in the moment. No flashbacks to long summer days of running barefoot in the tall grass. No memories of mom's homemade stuff: she didn't even start making her own ice cream until we kids moved out. There is absolutely no emotional baggage to stand between me and the perfectly cold pink dream that is currently performing a miracle of slow, sweet melt on my tongue.
Unfortunately, my next spoonful was somehow tainted with this month's extra-chocolate specialty: the clerk must have used a scoop that wasn't entirely clean. While I am in the clear as far as peppermint is concerned, the bittersweet of chocolate recalls a series of events in my life that I would otherwise rather forget.