Alysha loved her ice cream. It was not that she loved any ice cream – coffee ice cream, she thought, is the worst. But strawberry ice cream was the greatest; nothing could beat strawberry ice cream.
When Alysha arrived at the story for her weekly tub, though, they were all out. They had chocolate (meh), vanilla (more meh), and, of course, copious amounts of coffee (blech), but no strawberry anywhere. There were plenty of those other flavours, with chunks of things and ripples and the like. But no strawberry.
Alysha left the grocery store, got in her car, and started to drive. She reached the next grocery store, to find the same thing. She drove on, and on, and on.
Finally, Alysha was two hours’ drive from her home, but had found her coveted ice cream. She bought it – along with two others, just in case – and left. She returned inside for two bags of ice to stack beside them, then took off in her car, trying to beat the hand of time melting her love away. When she reached home, the tubs were soft, but not fully melted. She rushed them to the freezer and hoped they weren’t too harmed.
Still, the strawberry ice cream was in the freezer, and she was ready for the evening.