When we got to Kimball's in Jaffrey on Sunday, the kids were asleep in their car seats so I had Jeff go get our cones while I stayed in the air conditioned car. I'm going to let you in on a little secret here: orange sherbet with chocolate sprinkles. I know, I know, why would anyone get orange sherbet when they could get caramel cashew chip or mocha almond assault or... well, anything chocolate. Just go to Kimball's and try it, you'll see. Jeff discovered it late last summer, deep into ice cream stand season, when he'd had chocolately things enough times to allow himself to take a chance. The payoff was huge. Seriously delicious.
So anyway, Jeff comes back to the car with the typical preposterous Kimball's "kidde" portion--three scoops totalling a pint of ice cream, teetering on a cone, with a paper cup and plastic spoon for backup. $3.30. I got out of the car so I could have full range of motion for cone stabilization. I immediately realized the cone was terminally unmanageable, so I dumped the ice cream into the cup. The plastic spoon was too flimsy to work the ice cream back onto the cone. It was like being handed a juicy, rare steak, with no plate, and a tongue depressor instead of a knife and fork. I turned on my flip-flop heel and headed to the ice cream windows. All I wanted was a simple ice cream cone, not a pint of melting mess that I couldn't negotiate into my mouth. These Kimball's people need to be schooled. After all, I scooped my way through college. Other girls worked out at the gym. I had one muscle--my right bicep, from scooping.
"STOP!" Jeff yelled, lunging his considerable torso between me and the serving windows. "I am not going to let you ruin it for everybody else in the Kimball's-portion-loving world!" He managed to squash a scoop's worth back onto the cone, though the sprinkles were no longer sprinkled but mashed into the matrix of orange sherbet in a most unsatisfying configuration. We fed the rest by spoon to Charlie in the back seat, by now awake and hungry.
Last night we met some friends at the Kimball's in Westford. My friend Alissa ordered ahead of me and I heard her ask for a doggie scoop of black raspberry for Sylvia. That's the second secret I'm revealing to you here tonight: just a smidge of ice cream, perfect for a preschooler, and they only charge TWENTY FIVE CENTS! I hope that by revealing this I haven't ruined it for everybody else. Don't all run down there tomorrow asking for one or they'll get wise.
Here's Summer hitting golf balls after her doggie (or is it "dogge"?) scoop of black raspberry. 
Having had the orange sherbet with chocolate sprinkles on Sunday, I opted for the caramel cashew chip this time. Charlie chose simply to run into the parking lot fourteen hundred times. That is how I maintain my noodly physique, even though I eat ice cream every day. Well that, and the nerves.
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