I get out of the van, put the sopping carton of leaking ice cream on the roof, and clean the floor using the thoughtful McDonalds girl’s stack of napkins.
During those few moments a white stream of creamy milk begins pouring down the side of my vehicle—white on red (possible nursery room colours?).
I clutch the muffin bag between my teeth, grab the ice-cap with one hand and the flimsy leaking carton of three reduced ice-creams with the other. At the church door I place my Tim Horton’s purchases on the cement step and run the ice cream into the kitchen freezer.
Then I clean my trail of ice-cream droplets from the recently steam-cleaned carpet. Then we have lunch.
Lesson #7 Whims have hidden costs
(to be continued)