Apparently, there's an ice cream truck distributor less than a block from my office. In the winter, I was blissfully unaware of this fact. Now that it's summer (sorta), and hotter than a crotch, we keep all the windows open. And Mr. Effing. Softee. plays all day long. That tinkling loop of song (it's not even a song! tantalizingly close to 'Bicycle Built for Two,' but not quite) is drilling itself into my brain. I wake up singing it. I leave work singing it. I imagine that if I were ever to become a serial killer, this is the tune I'd be singing as I cheerfully, efficiently offed my victims.
The madness has got to stop. Or, we've got to get an air conditioner.
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