I am visualizing an ice cream man, something like a hybrid of the Kool-Aid man and a snowman. He is hopping about, leaving melty sticky smudges on people's countertops - and that is the guy that has bones in your husband's ice cream. I imagine after enough of those sticky countertop smudges left, somebody gets frustrated and grabs an ice cream scoop and the next thing you know Mr. Ice Cream is in the freezer without properly sorting out the bones. Gosh that was morbid. I suppose this was the counterbalance to all the love in this post. Ha. Thank you for reading my cheerful post, and my morbid commentary :)