My younger self spent many (MANY) hours sitting on benches in various parks and town squares, eating icecream. Sometimes by myself, sometimes with friends, sometimes (and probably most often) with my siblings.
This was such a common occurrence, that we each kept an emergency spoon in our bags or wallets.
Yesterday I found myself alone in a new town, with a couple of hours to kill. It was incredibly warm, I had my luggage with me so I couldn’t do much easy sight seeing, and to be honest, I really couldn’t be bothered to go anywhere or do anything. Sometimes doing nothing is the best thing to spend time doing.
On the other hand, I hadn’t drunk anything since early in the morning, and dehydration isn’t fun.
I walked from the train station to the nearest supermarket and looked at all the ice creams on offer. Then I remembered that I no longer carry my spoon with me.
It’s been years since I had opportunity to use it… That was extraordinarily upsetting. I don’t know how I let such an integral part of my identity slide so far without even realising it.
In the end, I bought a packet of mini-milks. They have wooden sticks and taste like walking home from school as a little kid.
That was an adequate substitute, but I intend to find my spoon when I get back, and put it back in its rightful place in my purse.