Delirious Revisited.

My mother called from work saying they had ice cream cups and would I like her to bring me home some. I’m guessing I was probably around six years old.

“Sure,” I replied eagerly.

“How many do you want?” she asked.

“Ummm…five?”

Five seemed like a good number. Not a greedy number, and certainly enough to tide me over.

“All right, then. I’ll get five.”

The next morning I came downstairs to five cups. Empty cups. For ice cream. My mother worked in a paper cup factory. They usually made drink cups but they were trying a run of ice cream cups as a new product. She occasionally brought me home stacks of failed cups to play with. I built things and made stylish Barbie furniture from them.

What a goddamn disappointed kid I was.