When I was growing up, one of the best moments of a long summer day was the second you heard the sound of the ice cream man coming down the street. At the first ring of his bell, the neighborhood kids would disperse at unimaginable speeds, running home to beg our parents for a buck or two (back then that actually bought you something) so we could spoil our suppers with Bomb Pops and Snow Cones.
I don't know if the ice cream truck industry has seen a steady decline over the years or if my parents' neighborhood just doesn't have as many children as it once did, but my dad says he hasn't seen the truck come down the street in years, and I certainly haven't seen it in any of the neighborhoods that I've lived in in Boston (well, except for the sketchy one that was always parked on Mission Hill at odd hours of the night that my college friends and I were convinced was a drug cover, that's another story though).
When I put "Buy an Ice Cream from the Ice Cream Man" on my bucket list, I was secretly hoping that the universe would make one magically appear on Thurston Road, but when I finally came to terms with reality, I headed down to Pleasure Bay in Southie with my best gals Amy and Jenny to hit up the truck that's reliably parked at the beach there. In our post bachelorette party delirium (Amy's tying the knot this Saturday), none of us managed to snap a shot of our tasty treats so you'll just have to take my word for it that I had a cup of vanilla soft serve with chocolate jimmies (sprinkles to all your non-New Englanders), Amy had a pineapple milkshake, and Jenny kept it classic with a Snow Cone.
Image from http://students.cis.uab.edu
In other bucket list news: My mom and I spent a good portion of Monday working on my sundress, but since I picked out an advanced level pattern (way to go, Danne), I'm pretty sure that it won't be making it's debut until at least Labor Day. Calling Sondra Hamnquist, I need your help!