This is a condensed version of one of the many anecdotes my granddad told of his youth. I found it hard to believe - his love of ice-cream was legendary! - but he swore it was true, and happened when he was in his early twenties.
His first bank account finally opened, Glen stepped into the street, his new cheque-book prominent in his pocket. The ruse worked: he was soon beset by young ladies admiring his hat, or asking the time. When he invited a particularly appealing lass for tea, she suggested a nearby ice-cream parlour. To hide his complete ignorance of matters ice-cream, he ordered “the same as the lady”.
From his first trepidous spoonful , he was irrevocably smitten. To the day he died, he could remember nothing of the girl, but his eyes would glaze rapturously at the memory of his first ice-cream.
His first bank account finally opened, Glen stepped into the street, his new cheque-book prominent in his pocket. The ruse worked: he was soon beset by young ladies admiring his hat, or asking the time. When he invited a particularly appealing lass for tea, she suggested a nearby ice-cream parlour. To hide his complete ignorance of matters ice-cream, he ordered “the same as the lady”.
From his first trepidous spoonful , he was irrevocably smitten. To the day he died, he could remember nothing of the girl, but his eyes would glaze rapturously at the memory of his first ice-cream.
