Mr. Softee

A friend, who is now the joyous subject of another blog, recently reminded me of who I used to be. She always makes me happy when I see her, although she usually does most of the talking. I don't mind it a bit because she's the best kind of kooky, charming as all get-out and a singular force of nature deserving of her own You Tube channel.

She's also extremely sympathetic and to that end, let me do most of the talking when we had lunch the other day (and my guess is that this doesn't happen very often). After I exhausted both of us with my latest tales of woe, she recalled the time when we first met nearly 18 years ago.

"You were like this cool guy," she said, "who made really sarcastic comments all of the time."

"That was when I was more of a persona than a person," I admitted.

"But you had these two beautiful pictures of your kids on your desk," she remembered, "and right then I knew that you were really a Mr. Softee on the inside."

"Now I'm just a Mr. Softee," I said, "without the sprinkles."

"No problem, honey," she said, flashing what has always been the most genuine of smiles. "Sprinkles is my department."