Cowgirls and cream

I never learn. After I finished class this afternoon, my battered and bruised body was desperately caving ice cream, and so I set out for the supermarket. Walking down the escalator and into Coles, I wondered why I was getting odd looks, and then saw my reflection in a window. I was in bike shorts and backless workout top, dripping in sweat with bedraggled hair, and to top it all off, I was walking as though I had just spent a week on a horse. To make matters worse, I didn't just go to the one shopping centre, I had to go to two.
I was after a particular ice cream that I used to make when I worked in the ice cream factory, but I never had a chance to try it. Now everybody is raving about it, and I realise that I have missed my chance to be an ice cream hipster. The first Coles I went to didn't have any left, and so I went on a Coles hunt, with the aid of my trusty GPS. After successfully acquiring the cream based frozen dessert  that I was after, I topped off my adult life decisions for the day with the purchase of some Teddy Bear shaped pasta for my bolognaise.
On my way home, I got stuck behind a little blue car stacked high with surfboards and a sticker that said "skate to make cancer history." I was wondering if the old couple inside had borrowed their sons car, or if they were just deceptively radical for their age. As I overtook them, I discovered that the old lady was actually a blonde surfer guy with a hair style resembling a perm, and the old man was just a cap wearing skater with a terrible neck hunch. I first felt really guilty for judging them, and then laughed myself stupid.
Remember my giant whinge about not being able to sleep because of my noisy neighbours? Well I believe at the time I said that Mr Emphysema and his decaying lungs were no longer a problem, but I definitely jinxed myself. Every night without fail, he is back on his veranda coughing me what he must believe to be a lullaby. I also had my first in person encounter with him the other morning; as I was running to my car balancing a birthday cake, gym bag and chocolate moulds (after accidently locking myself out due to said cake, and then having a prolonged conversation about gas heating with my landlords,) I ran into him taking out the garbage. I politely said good morning, and he happily rasped "party time!" and pointed to the cake. Maybe he does like cake after all, and I can trade him sweet things for fresh veggies or eggs, or even better, get him addicted to baking rather than tar bars. Maybe.
I have just discovered the cooking channel on Foxtel, so I will leave you to your exciting lives while I spend my Friday night watching food shows, crying quietly to myself on my foam roller, and eating my hard won ice cream.
                                  Xx, Little Duck