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I love vanilla ice cream.
It’s cool, clean, and sophisticated.
A classic.
A popular favourite.
Children like it.
Who doesn’t like it?
It’s very inoffensive.
Not very risky. No kinks or quirks.
I do my best to be like that more and more, especially when tensions are running high, sensitivities are flaring up and rough edges need a silky smooth soothing touch to make life feel safe again.
To make it worth all the hurts, bruises and blows.
I try to be mature, hold my tongue, count to ten, walk away, let it go, and speak softly.
And goodness often flows in, out and through vanilla.
The peace is kept. Feelings are spared.
Time and space is made for common sense to come to the fore.
BUT…!
…sometimes you’ve just got to cover that nice little scoop of acceptability with an extra dollop of double chocolate chip, smother it in caramel sauce, throw a ton of marshmallows on it, dip it in hot fudge, layer on the whipped cream and, dive in!
Sometimes you just have to do that.
Because without a portion of outrage, a smack of confrontation, a sharp edge or dash of swagger, the whole thing just ends up so 'appropriate' that your spirit ends up melting away, and all you’re left with are the soggy remains of an uneaten treat, a bland and colourless little life.
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