Take a generous scoop or two of smooth white vanilla ice-cream, and place in a bowl. Top with warmed-up liquid honey, crushed cinammon biscuits, and a huge dollop of whipped cream. Place a glace cherry (like a cherry cooked in sugar or something) on top of the cream. Now sell it to The Newcomer for three dollars fifty, who was ridiculously expecting something piping hot and fried, (it’s called fried ice-cream, after all, were my expectations so high?), and who keeps feeling the chilly sides of the ice-cream bowl with her chilled hands, wondering where the hot fried bits are.
Yes, today is the fourth of July, and it is still chilly. The sun shines through in bits and pieces though. I discovered with horror and shock that the air-conditioner in my cubicle is blowing cold air. Cold air! I drew my bright red pashmina about my shoulders, and marched up to the kind experienced admin person of the office, and asked whether it is possible to switch off the stream of cold air. No, it is not. The air of the whole thirteen floors of this large office block is controlled by some faceless aliens sitting in New York or possibly Mexico, who automatically set the temperature to what is deemed suitable for the time of the year. Now it’s July, it’s supposed to be hot, and the so the conditioners blow cold. No buts or ifs. Individuals are supposed to adjust themselves to the pre-set temperatures- bring a cardigan if you start freezing, wear something lighter if it’s hot. My sick predecessor had left a large heavy cardigan behind, and I placed it strategically on the top of the air-conditioner to block the current of cold air, hoping the aliens won’t get mad at me.