The Smasher's Daughter

With the onslaught of the summer heat, the kids have been pestering me to take them to the local ice cream shack to buy them a treat. I have avoided the ice cream shack like the plague ever since I discovered it's existence.

The kids, however, clamor to be taken there, as it is the local hot spot for kids their age to gather and gossip. Boo spent many a dollar wooing his teenaged girl friends on the weathered benches out front and can't understand why I'm bucking so hard to avoid the place.

But for me, ice cream is meant to be eaten in the sanctity of one's home, straight out of the carton and preferably with out embarrassing one's self.

I had a mortifying experience when I was younger, involving ice cream and boys.

And it's all my dad's fault.

"Why, did he trip you or something?" Boo asked.

"No. Something much worse," I sighed and then proceeded to tell him the story of the Smasher's Daughter.

When I was sixteen, I hopped into my dad's truck as he was going to the gas station to fuel up and buy a pack of smokes. It was a sticky summer evening and I was hoping to twist my daddy's arm into buying me a cool treat.

I mean, how could he resist me if I batted my teal green eyelashes at him and whined non-stop about being hot, all the way to the gas station?

When we got to the gas station I was horrified to find a gaggle of boys I went to school with, loitering outside the front door of the store. Boys whom I thought were cute. Boys whom I was hoping to one day woo and entice with my wit and charm and shiny pink lipstick. Boys who took my breath away by simply existing.

I panicked. I was with my father, who was dirty and wearing ugly work boots, sitting in his ratty old truck and I hadn't taken the time to groom myself for any chance meetings with boys. Could I get any uncooler?

Suddenly, I didn't want a cool treat any more; in fact I no longer wanted anything more than the powers of invisibility or for my father discover he forgot his wallet at home and for him to immediately turn the vehicle around and save me from having to walk into the store along side my father.

Dad, however, after listening to me whine and needle him about an ice cream treat for the better part of ten minutes, was not going to let a few boys and my red cheeks interfere with my plans for mint chocolate chip goodness.

He ordered me into the store and with my head hung down to my knees I stared at my toes and ignored the snickerings of the cute boys around me. I felt like I had died and landed straight into teen aged hell. My father of course, was enjoying my discomfort immensely.

Sadistic bugger.

After getting our ice cream cones he yanked on my arm and tugged me out of the store and straight into the middle of the group of boys I was so desperate to avoid. If only I had known I would be seen in public with my dad, I thought, I would have put on some makeup and brushed my hair.

Dad, noticing my red face, did the unthinkable. He stopped dead in the middle of the group and took a big lick of his ice cream cone. He winked at me and started making "Yum, Yum," sounds as loud as he could. The boys watched the show my dad was putting on with great amusement.

He took another big lick and then grinned at me and grabbed my ice cream cone. He smiled at me and then he smooshed both ice cream cones into the brick wall of the gas station. I stood and watched in horror.

As the boys snickered.

Dad, satisfied the ice cream wasn't going to fall off the cones and onto the pavement by our feet, looked at me, looked at the boys and took a great big exaggerated lick while practically yelling, "Yummy!" He handed back my ice cream cone and smiled.

"Go on, take a lick. It won't fall off now," he grinned.

I looked at him, horrified by how he had just demonstrated his redneck ways in front of a group of cute city boys, and tentatively touched the tip of my tongue to the smushed scoops of ice cream now beginning to drip down the side of the cone.

"See, it's YUMMY!" he snorted and urged me to take a bigger lick.

Meanwhile, the boys all silently watched, grinning and feeding off my humiliation.

I took a big lick this time, anything to get my dad to move his feet which seemed permanently welded to the concrete at this point and get back into the damn vehicle. "Yum," I murmured as I wished for the ground to swallow me whole.

Dad, satisfied he had accomplished his mission to mortify his oldest daughter and turn her into a social pariah for the rest of her high school years, laughed and started his way to the truck.

Just as I was about to hop in and hide under the dash, my dad called my name out. All the boys turned with great interest to see what other horrors this father had in mind for his daughter, their school mate.

"You remember how I smashed the ice cream into the wall today. Next time it will be a boy's head if he ever asks you to lick anything of his," he growled at the boys.

Suddenly the snickering stopped and the boys all went kinda green.

None of them ever asked me out. Thanks Dad.

"And that's why I don't want to take the kids to go get ice cream. I was known as the Smasher's Daughter for three years! I wasn't COOL! If it wasn't for you, I'd have never had a boyfriend in high school and I would probably be single and living with a bunch of cats and a pile of used vibrators!" I told Boo.

Boo was busting a gut laughing, picturing my father threatening those boys and embarrassing me all at the same time.

"That's so awful! I can totally picture your dad doing that," he giggled. "No wonder you were such a geek back then," he laughed.

"Bite me."

"I have a better idea," he grinned and stood up.

"Hey Fric, how 'bout a father-daughter outing and we grab some ice cream?"

Looks like I'll soon have company as I eat my ice cream at home. I better buy a bigger carton of ice cream.