[photo courtesy Thommy Browne]Dear Fla*Vor*Ice,
Back in the day, I used to eat you like there was no tomorrow. And in a way, there wasn't - I was seven years old, and the world was only as big as our driveway, our backyard, and our living room, which had a camping tent in it because my parents didn't have any furniture to put in there. I didn't have much to worry about, Fla*Vor*Ice, and you were there with me, with your bright neon colors (which may explain some of my current fashion choices) and completely lab-created flavors.
You were simple, Fla*Vor*Ice. The only decision I had to make - and I knew all the options were good ones - was what color I wanted. You didn't come in complicated flavors like Kiwi Strawberry or Pomegranate Acai or Goji Tarocco Orange. You just came in green or purple, red or blue.
But somewhere along the way, I lost touch with you, Fla*Vor*Ice. You were supplanted by healthier treats and eventually, boozy ones. Why have a Fla*Vor*Ice when you could have a frozen margarita? I gained some things with these new indulgences, I suppose, most notably a habit for falling down, but I lost some, too: you.
Which is why I was so delighted yesterday when my writing partner had a whole 100-count box of you in the freezer.
"Do you want a freezepop?" he asked.
"Of course," I replied.
"What color? Not what flavor - what color?"
"Green," I said, sure that whatever green was, it was gonna be good.
Let's be friends again this summer.