I like simple things.
Like eating ice cream at dairy bars.
What is a dairy bar? It’s an ice cream stand.
You walk up to the counter, order your ice-cream based goody, plunk down your cash, and walk away with an ooey-gooey hard-ice cream cone, soft-serve sundae, blizzard, shake, float, frosty, smoothie, or deep-fried Mars bar.
Dairy bars mean Summer. Dairy bars mean weekend. I love dairy bars and everything they represent.
Dairy bars are reason #971 why Prince Edward Island is the place for me.
Here I am poised at the precipice of my very first dairy bar experience.
I was a little overwhelmed with all the delicious choices… The deep-fried Mars bar called to me, but I opted for standard dairy bar fare: an ice cream sundae.
Like the thought of that dairy bar? Think it’s one of a kind?
Well, a few blocks further and across the street, there’s…
I was stuffed from my ice cream sunday, so I didn’t order any ice cream at Johnny’s Dairy Bar. Because one delicious dairy bar treat on the weekend is understandable. But two dairy bar treats in one day is a bit much, wouldn’t you say?
I did walk up to the counter and order a smile, though. The cute dairy bar girl was happy to oblige.
Cute dairy bar girls make me feel old. I’m a 27 year old woman now, but I still feel like a dairy bar girl. (OK, maybe I never worked in a dairy bar per se, but I did scoop ice cream at a mini-golf one summer, and it still feels like yesterday.)
I guess when I was a cute ice cream scooper like this one, I thought that people grew up and became adults. I thought that adults were somehow different. I thought that I’d grow up, stop being myself, and somehow become one of them–an adult. But it doesn’t work that way.
I still feel like that dairy bar girl. I look at her and I see me! But the cute dairy bar girl looks at me and sees a 27-year-old woman who for some reason wants to take her picture, and could you hurry up already, lady?
Don’t get me wrong, she was cute and polite and everything a dairy bar girl should be. But to her, I was an adult.
Somehow, some time, I became one of them–the adults. But I’m still a seventeen-year old dairy bar girl at heart. Come to think of it, I’m still that eight-year-old free-spirited child that I used to be, I’m still that twelve-year old tom-boy that I used to be, and I’m still that 21-year old giggler that I used to be.
All this talk about growing up is making me depressed. Depressed enough to crave a treat at my local dairy bar, the one and only…
Gillis’ Drive In Restaurant, Montague, PEI
I know, I’m only 27. I’m still a spring chicken no matter how you look at it when it comes to age. But the principle remains: time keeps marching on and there’s nothing we can do about it.
To give old mother time a run for her money, I try to live life to the fullest as best as I can.
And I try to stop for deep fried Mars bars along the way. (But, you know, just in the Summer. And on the weekends.)