The ice cream sandwich had melted in the hot car and had begun to seep out through soggy wrapping. When Birdie sat down on it, she couldn’t figure out what had happened at first. Then, she gingerly raised her considerable bulk off the front seat and looked around. Sure enough, her entire backside was covered in sticky ice cream and hunks of chocolate cookie. Three little boys in the back seat couldn’t control their giggling at the sight of her trying to wipe it off with a lacy napkin she kept in her pocketbook.
“Which one of you boys left your ice cream sandwich on the seat?” she demanded.
The boys looked nervously at each other, knowing full well who had done it. “Not me!” they all said at once.
When Birdie finally stormed back into the house to change clothes, they all burst out laughing. “Ever time she took a step, another blob fell off!” One of them delightfully recounted. Squeaky, Birdie’s pet chihuahua was eagerly licking up the last of the melted ice cream off the front walkway.
“At least we won’t have to hose it down!” another one hooted.
“And we’ll be so late to church, she might not make us go!” The main culprit chimed in.
For two weeks every summer they’d visit their Aunt Birdie on her farm. This gave their parents a much needed break from the three overly active boys. Along with the fun things, like riding her horse or chasing the chickens, they had to do a share of the chores and attend church every Sunday. These things were done grudgingly, but faithfully. They knew better than to press their luck with Aunt Birdie.
On Sunday mornings, she would load them up promptly at a quarter to nine and whisk them off to church, where they had to sit quietly in the pew for two hours straight. This was akin to torture for three wild, unruly boys who were out of school for the summer. A spitball thrown in church would likely get the offender two whole days of kitchen duty, including pots and pans. So, they had carefully planned the ice cream sandwich incident as a way of delaying their inevitable Sunday morning ordeal. But what they hadn’t counted on was Aunt Birdie’s well hidden sense of humor.
When she emerged from the house in her boots and jeans, they quieted down immediately, knowing not to aggravate her any further. Since she no longer had on her Sunday dress and high heels, they were somewhat relieved and hopeful. She then ordered them to go inside and change into their shorts and tennis shoes.
“Mabe she’ll ride us around the fields and dirt roads in that old rusty station wagon,” they whispered to each other.
“And mabe she’ll let Squeaky ride with us,” they continued.
When she took them riding, they were allowed to hang out the windows and grab at dog fennel that grew along the roads. Sometimes she’d stop and let them pick blackberries or blueberries or plums. The plums were their favorite because if the fruit was either too green or too ripe, it would end up as a prime projectile for them. The green ones stung if they were thrown too hard and the rotten ones always splattered the victim with smelly goo. “Since we’re already late for church, we might as well not go,” she conceded, as the boys looked at each other and smiled gleefully. Birdie noted this and filed it away in the back of her mind.
“We’ll ride around awhile and kick up some dust. Then I’ll take yu’all swimming at the lake, then we’ll stop by the restaurant. You boys can get cheeseburgers and french fries and even a cold soda apiece.” The three boys whooped and shouted joyfully as they sped along. After riding and swimming until well into the afternoon, they greedily gobbled up the restaurant food and kept pestering Birdie for pie, until she gave in. They were so full and so worn out, that by the time they returned to the farmhouse, they were all starting to nod off in the back seat.
“Yu’all boys take a nap, then we’ll get up and go fishing down at the river,” Birdie commanded.
“Wonder why she’s being so nice after we done her like that,” said one of the boys.
“I don’t know. We’ll figger it out after we wake up,” yawned another.
“Oh no!” they hollered as they slipped between the sheets and found themselves covered in sticky, runny melted ice cream sandwiches.
