Yesterday, I stuck my head in our small chest freezer to retrieve an item from the bottom. One inhale and the freezer smell hit me like a rock. Those memory wavy lines (a-la Saved by the Bell) took me back to my childhood.
My parents have a chest freezer in their basement. It is yellow. It is huge. It is a dinosaur. It is full of frozen food. One will often find it with food storage on the lid to keep it shut.
As a kid, my mom would buy the cheapest popsicles at the store. My siblings and I were only allowed to have half a popsicle a day. I would make my way down stairs--careful to turn on all the lights so that the resident gorilla didn't get me--to get my half. Unfortunately, I was a bit sneaky and I would eat one half while I hid in the basement, then come up stairs to eat another half in plain view of everyone else.
Sometimes, we would break the half of a popsicle up into a cup and make a slushy treat. I soon figured out that I could shove three whole popsicles into a large cup without anyone knowing any better.
