Ice Cream Antisocial

I was talking to my best friend earlier and he was exhorting me to get a Facebook account. I explained that I’m not a big fan of the “social networking” sites and related the story that follows to illustrate my point. He seemed to enjoy the tale and said, somewhat derisively, that I should write about it on my blog, so that’s exactly what I’m doing.

Every year my town holds a real old-fashioned ice cream social at the park by my house. Big Band music, ice cream, the whole shebangabang.

Several years ago, overcome by curiosity, I attended said event with my (at that time) girlfriend. After the music, as I was enjoying my ice cream a sweet elderly lady came up and engaged me in conversation. I played along and chatted for a bit, but the voice in my head was saying:

I don’t know you, why are you talking to me? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Apparently some of us just aren’t ice cream social material. I still chuckle at my grumpy antisocial attitude (at an ice cream social no less!) to this day. Don’t even get me started on the people at the hardware store!

Evidently I would feel right at home at the ‘Grumpy Old Bastard Days’ festival.