The Story of the Ice-Cream Man

Once upon a time, there was a very special little village, tucked far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Of course, now, it is a non-descript suburb, in a sprawling metropolis, serviced by the same two supermarkets every city suburb has, with a nice, conventional park complete with its own cookie-cutter swing-set & slide. At the time of this story, however, it was still a delightful little village, full of hedges, white picket fences, people who knew each other by name as well as sight, and where it was still possible for children to play ball games in the street without fear of being hit by cars or abused by paedophiles.

In this village, there lived an ice-cream man. Now, this was no ordinary ice-cream man. This was not your everyday, middle-aged, grouchy ice-cream man in a faded, dirty, pink and white van who sold pig-fat, soft-serve ice-cream in stale, neon-orange cones. This was a man who believed in the inherent goodness and value of ice-cream. The ability of ice-cream to brighten one's day; to forge friendships and new love; to change lives for the better. This ice-cream man was young, handsome, idealistic; he had a charming smile for everyone he met, and an ice-cream flavour for every occasion. He had ice-cream that would fix any problem, celebrate any event, and suit every mood & personality. There was dark pistachio chocolate for the adults, bubblegum-sherbet surprise for the kids. There was strawberry & cream for sixteen-year old sweethearts, and chili chocolate for the passionate lovers. On a hot, frazzled day, he'd suggest you sit outside in the shade and try a chilled melon and lime sorbet (with real melon pieces). On a cold day, he'd bundle you up in to the shop, sit you by the heater, while he whipped you up a hot fudge sundae, with your choice of three ice-creams, nuts, cream and sauce (with a hot chocolate to wash it all down).

The ice-cream man was an institution in the little village - everyone knew him, everyone bought his ice-cream, and no one had a bad word to say about him.

But, whilst the ice-cream man loved his ice-cream and loved the joy people got from it, he always felt that something was missing. When a new girl from a far away country town started working at the local dress-maker's store, he finally realised what it was.

The ice-cream man began to spend his every lunch break, sitting on the bench opposite the dressmaker's. Soon, he found himself there more and more often, found that every errand he had to run would take him past the dressmaker's. Eventually, his day became one long lunch break, and he stopped setting foot inside his ice-cream parlour at all.

'This will not do,' thought the ice-cream man, as more and more of the villagers came to complain to him that they could no longer get their daily ice-cream fix, with him, sitting, staring at the little, red-haired seamstress all day long.

'This will not do,' he thought to himself, as he watched the little seamstress pack up her things for the umpteenth time, lock up the dress shop and leave without him being able to catch her eye.

'I must say something to her.'

But try as he might, the ice-cream man couldn't bring himself to talk to the little seamstress. He fretted for days and days, practiced conversations in front of the mirror, watched her arrive at work and watched her leave, but could never find the right moment to approach her.
Finally, he hit upon a plan.

'I will create for her, her very own ice-cream flavour, one that she cannot resist and which expresses my feelings for her without words,' he thought. 'When she takes a bite, she will suddenly realise what it is I want to say, and she will rush into my open arms, and never leave them as long as we both shall live.'

That night, he spent 3 hours coming up with the perfect mix of strawberries, raspberries and mulberries, all chosen for their red colours and sweet taste, 'the colour of my heart and her hair, the sweetness of her person and my love,' he thought to himself.

The ice-cream man was very pleased with his creation, and brought the little seamstress a small pink tub of the ice-cream, decorated with little red swirls, to her work the next day. Not wishing to be rude, he left her with the little tub, to eat in peace, and told her he would return that afternoon to see how she had liked it.

That afternoon, the ice-cream man returned to the seamstress and asked her if she had enjoyed the ice-cream. 'Mmm,' she replied, non-committedly, keeping her distance, and most definitely not running into the ice-cream man's arms. 'It was very... pink,' she said in an off-hand way.
Convinced he had created the wrong ice-cream and therefore sent the wrong message, the ice-cream man hurried home, determined to try again.

This time, he worked for 6 hours, to find the perfect blend of white chocolate, milk chocolate and hazelnuts, to show the various shades of his love for the little seamstress. 'White chocolate for the purity of my love, milk chocolate for the warmth of my love, and hazelnuts for the nourishing and fulfilling nature of my love.'

The next morning, he took her a few generous scoops, in a carved, wooden tub. Again, not wanting to embarrass her, he left her in peace to taste the ice-cream, promising to return that afternoon.

When he came back, he was disappointed to see that the little seamstress was still busily working. He had expected, or hoped, to find her so distracted & overwhelmed by his ice-cream that she would be unable to focus on anything else. 'Mmm...' she replied, when he asked her if she had enjoyed the ice-cream. 'It seemed very...decadent.'

Convinced he had made yet another faux pas, the ice-cream man returned to his parlour, determined to succeed this time & make the little seamstress the most spectacular ice-cream she had ever tasted.

That night, he worked from dusk to dawn. He did not sleep, and did not stop working until he was convinced he had created the perfect ice-cream. 'If she does not love me after this,' thought the ice-cream man, 'then I am surely wasting my time.' He had made an ice-cream of blackberries & blueberries (to symbolise his pain at not having the little seamstress for his own), of raspberries & strawberries (to symbolise her heavenly nature), he had mixed in thickened cream to show the richness of his love, and covered it all in dark chocolate to show the seriousness of his intentions. He presented it all in a silver ice-cream tub, hand-crafted by his father, the original ice-cream man, and carried it to the little seamstress on a plate decorated by flowers.

Once he handed the plate to the little seamstress, the ice-cream man went outside, pacing the pavement and anxiously awaiting the little seamstress' verdict. When she did not burst out of the store within 10 minutes, the ice-cream man's heart began to sink. After 20 minutes, he had stopped pacing and stood, staring at the door, willing the little seamstress to appear. At 30 minutes, the ice-cream man went inside the dressmaker's store to meet his fate.

'Well?' he asked, when he saw her over the counter. 'Mmmm...' said the little seamstress, trying not to catch the eye of the ice-cream man. 'Mmm....' she said again, as she picked up spare bits of cloth and cleared them away. 'It seemed very.... colourful... ice-cream.'

The ice-cream man turned and walked out of the dressmaker's shop with his shoulders slumped. He immediately returned to his ice-cream parlour, locked the door and hung a 'For Sale' sign on the front window.

The ice-cream man is now an accountant in the heart of the sprawling metropolis. He no longer believes in the power of anything to change anybody (except perhaps for money) and tries not to remember in the morning time, the dreams of the little seamstress that he has at night.

The little seamstress is now married to the local gym instructor and spends her time exercising, counting calories and cooking sugar-free, fat-free, gluten-free meals for her husband and children. If the ice-cream man had only known that the little seamstress was ALWAYS on a diet, things might have worked out differently.