Who doesn't love a frosty mug of root-beer-float? This is a love I have adopted from my late Grandmother Phyllis. She used to make me one each time I came to visit. No fail. Not only do I love the treat, but how I think of her every time I indulge myself.
Today after helping to break up the worst fist fight I have yet seen at work, I motivated myself to make it through the rest of the day with the knowledge that there would be a root-beer-float awaiting me at home.
Later in the work day, when I should have been on my way home, I chased a fuming-run-away boy into the middle of a busy street where he promptly yelled at and hit me. It was then, as the two of us put traffic to a halt, that I promised myself a second root-beer-float.
And I always keep my promises. Those floats proved to be the ultimate comfort food.
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