Chocolate waterfalls are not as marvelous as Will Wonka would have us believe.

I have before mentioned that adventures are never the same. They vary to each individual. Adventures can even seem remarkably innocent when they begin. Thus was my epic adventure of the day. My little sister and I were left alone at our older sister's house for the day today-- simple, innocent. We watched a few episodes of Mission Impossible, and I took an hour and a half long nap. I should have seen the warning signs. After I revived myself, we headed out across town for dinner. There was a pleasant breeze. We ate, and then set out in search of the ice cream place we had heard fables of. We found the shop after a long, grueling search, and of course we were feeling brave and hungry, so we went for gold. I ordered a triple-scoop rocky road and death by chocolate waffle cone. Rachel ordered a 20oz espresso explosion milkshake. Hers was the wiser decision. We commenced across the street to the park, where there was boring live music and an unappreciative audience. I attacked my ice cream cone with gusto, in a race against the sun. Alas, the sun's heat began to overtake and overcome my ability to eat ice cream. As the chocolate goodness began to melt into delectable brown waterfalls, I began to mourn. The death of ice cream is a terrible thing. It began running down my hand, onto my arm, even dribbling down onto my left leg and foot. As we trekked home, I began receiving weird looks from passers-by. A guy on a bike even began laughing at my predicament. I ended up having to dump the remaining puddle of chocolate out, because the stream of melting chocolate was too much for me. I made in into the house with only my right hand, as my left hand was covered in slowly hardening chocolate. I survived the traumatic experience, but only barely. My stomach is a little the worse for wear, but I am no longer sticky. They say situations can be sticky. They have no idea.