Dear Ice Cream Man
You're a douche.
We heard you ring your bell for 20 minutes as you drove around the neighborhood, exploring almost every street in the development. Except ours, of course.
My daughter stood vigil at the screen door in the front as she heard your bell get louder then softer, louder again then softer again.
Finally we caught sight of you, pulling up the street adjacent to ours -- the street that leads outward to the town at large. And that was the last we saw of you.
Bastard.
I had dreams of a Bomb Pop for dessert tonight. I'm sure my wife would have loved a Chocolate Malted Milk Cup. And my kids were certainly fantasizing about the latest novelty pop feature their favorite cartoon characters.
But nooo.