Every year I forget about Free Cone Day, which was yesterday. Even if you really like ice cream, which I do, you really have to plan ahead. Yesterday, for example, I went to Bob’s for a slice of pizza and the counter served up an ice cream cone with pizza-flavored ice cream. “Do you have any actual slices?” I said.
“Not today,” said the counter, grinning. “It’s free cone day.”
I nodded and reluctantly ate the ice cream.
Then I went to get a haircut. Even though my hair is thinning like crazy on top, I have to get it cut sort of frequently because otherwise my head takes on this really weird shape. So I walked into the salon, sat down in the chair and closed my eyes. Soon I felt my stylist’s hands on my neck. I assumed that she would trim my hair with an electric razor as usual, but then I felt something cold above my ear. I yelped and I opened my eyes.
The stylist was holding an ice cream cone. I looked in the mirror – there was Cherry Garcia ice cream in my hair.
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