Adventures on the road. Part 2

You may be wondering what happened on the rest of my journey cross-country. Well, you’re in luck, I’m about to tell you. After the incident with the Joyride truck, we pulled the 5th wheel into our park in Nashville. We had arrived. I was home for the next few days. Ah. All should’ve been well, right?

Wrong. 

When we opened the door we were greeted with melted ice cream, EVERYWHERE.

Not 1, not 2, not 3, containers of ice cream. No. We had to have 4 in the freezer. All brand new and unopened. Why? Because that shit was on sale. I’m talking cheap as heck. $1.25 cheap. We loaded up the freezer. Ice cream for us is a treat, we rarely even buy it. And besides, we knew it would be fine in the freezer, it would survive the journey. We have the freezer that is supposed to stay sealed, and not come open while traveling. No matter how many bumps we hit it’s always stayed closed.

Until now.

Want to know what a pool of melted ice cream looks like? My kitchen floor. At 8 o’clock in the evening. On a Sunday. In Nashville. After driving for nearly ten hours. And being chased down by the truck from Joyride. (I may actually be going insane.)

Pops is swearing.

Mama is flabbergasted.

I’m… numb.

I mean, I did survive the whole trucker incident, even if that was in my head. The point is, I’m tired as hell, my back is killing me, and all I want is my bed. But no, thanks to our mother-trucking freezer, we get to clean up ice cream for a good hour before any of that happens.  Thank you, pain medication. 

So, I leave Mama in the car with the fur-babies, and I go in to start cleaning up. We both know that Pops isn’t going to do that along with setting up the trailer. It’s up to us to clean up the melted goop. After all it was us who bought it.

I swear if avoiding stepping in melted goop was an Olympic event, I’d win the gold. I weaved my way through the mess like a champ. All on my way to the bathroom to grab some towels to sop it up, before scrubbing the floor.

I grabbed 4 towels. My whole theory was, 4 tubs of ice cream, 1 towel per tub. Again, I was wrong.

Did I mention along with the liquefied goo, there were chocolate malt balls, gobs of peanut butter, hunks of cheesecake and other bits of candy? No? Well there was. TONS OF IT.

By the time, I’m on my second towel, Mama has joined me in my cleaning venture. My back can’t take much more and we’ve barely made a dent. It’s under boxes, the cooler, cupboards, Frasier’s litter box, even on the carpet.

I feel like crying.

Mama forces me to stop cleaning, take some of pain medication for my back, and to rest. Only problem is, I can’t really rest anywhere. Because… ice cream.

After nearly an hour, the mess is mostly cleaned. We’ve trashed at least 6 towels. The trailer smells like PineSol instead of peanut butter. (#NotWinning) And we’re finally going to give in and call it a night. Hopefully some sweet dreams will be found soon.

Days later, I’m still finding melted ice cream in weird places. Like splashed on my car. Only way I can figure it ended up there was when we tossed the trashed towels out the door.

I think it’ll be awhile before I buy ice cream again.

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