On Friday I went to the
Elmwood Zoo with J. and her two sons S. and N. You might recall them from my visit to Philadelphia. The reason we went there was to watch a purported puppet show. It turned out to be a lady with some stuffed animals singing very slightly altered versions of popular kids' songs. It seemed to keep the kids' attentions for the most part though S. certainly didn't want to stay for the whole thing...but then there was ice cream at the end of the puppet tunnel.
The ice cream in question was, well, pretty lame. It came from the zoo's little cafe. There were four possible flavors. I went with a flavor called something like 'celebratory sundae'. It was cookies and cream with peanutbutter. It took the team behind the counter an inordinately long time to scoop together our three cones. I mean a really, really unbelievably long time...and then the result was a sub-par scoop of ice cream. Really. I mean. Whatever.
S. liked his birthday cake flavored ice cream.
The zoo was in Norristown, a suburb of Philadelphia full of a large number of extremely unattractive and unfortunate looking people...or at least all the people we saw on the streets fit this description.
The ice cream in question was, well, pretty lame. It came from the zoo's little cafe. There were four possible flavors. I went with a flavor called something like 'celebratory sundae'. It was cookies and cream with peanutbutter. It took the team behind the counter an inordinately long time to scoop together our three cones. I mean a really, really unbelievably long time...and then the result was a sub-par scoop of ice cream. Really. I mean. Whatever.
S. liked his birthday cake flavored ice cream.
The zoo was in Norristown, a suburb of Philadelphia full of a large number of extremely unattractive and unfortunate looking people...or at least all the people we saw on the streets fit this description.
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