My granny's homemade icecream was something from heaven. The very best.
She lived in Trinidad, CO. and when I was little, we would visit her at Christmas.
Occasionaly, she would send me and my brothers down the alley to a tiny grocery store for a carton of hand-packed, homemade ice cream. It was a wonderful, exciting walk for a five year old girl and the man who owned the grocery was always nice and cheerful and I have always remembered his smile.
These days, since I have Type II diabetes, I shouldn't eat ice cream, but I do cheat. When I do, my personality changes to a sort of Elvira, including fangs. That much sugar does a job on me almost immediately. Yes, I'm stupid to eat it, I deserve the payback, but stupidity and ice cream seem made for each other. It's truly like an addiction.
Somebody please slap me upside the head.
Loved the comic, Tsarstepan.
Gotta go now, I'm drooling and I hate it when the hair starts to grow on my fingers...