The Date - Part 3: Ice Cream.

Before I further inhibit the notion of putting my career on self-destruct mode, I called out the waitress for the desserts menu. There was a promotion going on for the Earthquake, an ice-cream combination of eight flavors. There were a zillion flavors listed in the menu and we had to choose eight. That's like having eight sex craved girlfriends on the same bed with only one tablet of viagra. It's like having found a giant chest full of gold coins when there nothing around you can use except your Renoma G-string underwear. It's a bloody headache. And as though choosing eight out of a zillion is not bad enough, they force you to choose a further eight toppings from another colossal list. Eating ice cream was supposed to be FUN!! It shouldn't need to fuse your brains thinking if Raspberry toppings goes well with the Peppermint Chocolate. After what seemed like an eternity to the power of three, we finally decided on the flavors. The waitress happily took out orders and swiftly left us with the feeling as though we were physicists that finally solved the mystery of how Swensen's came up with a zillion flavors and how it was possible to cramp them all into one piece of laminated cardboard.

Her face lighted up when the giant bowl of ice cream arrived. I took a minute to soak in her expression, forging it into my memory and labeling it conveniently under the category "Moments to Remember with Xxxxx". As we dug in to the soft texture of the chocolate mint with the mini ice cream spoons, our conversation followed suit on the infrequent experiences we have had in Swensen's for the past 100 years. I'd managed a few teases in between just for the sake of making her playfully angry. The way she pouts her lips, even her stare of death is just so cute. She always, knowing or unknowingly, have a way of making me laugh. It's just so adorable and in a way melts my heart away. For that two hours, the Earth must be spinning at double speed. It seemed like we just sat down and suddenly, was fast forwarded to the current, where we were already scraping the remains of melted vanilla at the bottom of the dessert bowl. It was time to leave.

On the drive back, we spent most of the time listening the chinese music compilation playing on the audio. Then she spoke, un-suggestively, unwillingly with a little hint of fear and shyness. She called out my name and my hand instinctively reached to the little knob on the left side of the stereo and skillfully twisting it until the music died into a feint whimper in the background. I looked at her but she turned away and whimpered a little "Nothing lah". My instincts told me there was something on her mind, so I pushed her a little bit by replying with a glitzy and comical "If have something to say, then just say it, dun b a wussy". "Let's go for a drive" was the stern reply; her words taking me off guard as I tried the make the sense out of it. Amused with how the night was going, I politely replied with a smile "Ok". The traffic light turned green, I feathered the gas throttle and my trusty little Satria was on its way.