last night, after a long day and a rather unremarkable homemade lasagne, liam took me for ice cream.

we meandered through my green and chirpy neighbourhood to the local homemade parlour. it's called Lucas and a family run little place with an upstairs for kiddie parties and penny candies strung from the counter. it's so cute.

and i even got to splurge on a praline parfait with hot fudge. it was in a little plastic stem cup like an old school diner sundae and i was so excited. long handled spoon, holding hands in the sunshine. there is nothing better.

until, holding this stem cup from the bottom, the base and the body proceede to seperate in my hands (like those shitty champagne flutes in college) and the ice cream, hot fudge, nuts and whipped cream spun - literally spun- through the air and directly into a muddy puddle in the middle of a construction site.

we both laughed (but mine were covering tears). and poor liam went and got me another one, which was obviously even better.

and then we went to sit on a garden bench in a tiny hidden green around the corner and smell the honeysuckle.

sometimes it's like a fairytale, just with more comedy value.