Many of you hear me speak of the time I spend with my niece. I do have more than one niece, but this one lives in the same state. Reagan is either ten or twelve. Who can keep up with these things? Anyhow, we were out and about on a “My Aunt Is Spoiling The Hell Out Of Me” trip when I saw this place:

Out in the country, small portable buildings similar to this one pop up during the summer and sell shaved / crushed ice flavored drinks. So, when I saw the building (only the outline as it sits well off the road) and “Ice House,” I pulled in for us to have a refreshing beverage at a place with a catchy name. Well, when I saw the actual building, I looked at Reagan in surprise, and she informed me that at the “Ice House,” they sold only “ice”—unflavored and in a bag. We chuckled about it, but I was embarrassed. But wait, it gets better… or worse depending on if you are laughing at me or with me. I know, you’re saying how can it be worse than not realizing the obvious? Well, about a month later I asked her if she wanted to go to this new place I saw, completely forgetting our prior stop and discussion on the little building called “Ice House.”

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