"I'm sorry. WHAT?!"
These are the kind of titillating conversations My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") and I have.
And as a reminder, typically in bed. Right after I wake up.
Or on the couch. When I'm focused on the 40 things I'm not doing, silently guilting myself.
So when MSMF breaks into my foggy or blame brain with a doozy like ice cream toppings after being in a concentration camp you can understand the level of, "I'm sorry. What the fuck did you just say?"
Which is exactly what I said.
Me: "I'm sorry. What the fuck did you just say?"
MSMF: "If you could have any ice cream topping, since you just got out of a concentration camp, what would you get?"
Me: "No. Dude. I heard you. I'm just not... why a concentration camp?!"
MSMF: "Because you're starving! And it's got to be, I don't know, a big decision which topping you would get!"
Me: "Post concentration camp ice cream..."
MSMF: "Yeah!"
Me: "Ok... I'll try this. I guess I would get... cookie dough? Or peanut butter cup? I mean, a post-concentration camp decision like this is a BIG deal."
MSMF: "That's what I'm saying!"
Me: "I'm not a big fan of toppings really anyway. You know that. So, what would YOU get?"
MSMF: "Toasted chopped almonds."
MSMF has obviously thought this through because he said it without hesitation.
Me: "You'd probably not have teeth. Just FYI."
MSMF: "Yeah. Mangoes then."
Wow.
I feel like this line of thinking is exactly what would enable someone to live through such an unspeakable thing; the ability to swim vividly in your own thoughts, blocking out the brutality of the world around you, internally debating the sights and smells of the topping counter in an ice cream shop.
So, I have to ask.
If you just got out of a concentration camp, and you were craving ice cream, do you know what topping you would want?
