Write something from the point of view. . .

. . .of the one on the right.

I hate him.

I hate his twitchy little pink nose, I hate his long antenna ears, I hate his fluffly little cotton tail.

Don't get me wrong. Everyone'll tell you I'm one of the nicest ice cream vendors in the park, but why does HE always have to come to MY stand? There's a grizzly who works the other side of the lake and he sells twice as many flavors. And he's just as nice as me. You think the little flea farm could get an ice cream cone from him once in a while?

Oh, no, that would save me a lot of frustration and unless the planets reverse orbit, that's never going to happen. It's the same thing every time.

"Afternoon, Mister Walruswhomper."

"Oh, hi, Harrison." (Yes, his parents have every "Indiana Jones" flick on DVD.) "Vanilla, again?"

"No, I might try something different this time. What flavors do you have this week?"

::sigh:: (Here it comes.) "Strawberry Cheesecake."

"No, I might get a rash."

"Mocha Almond Fudge."

"Mom says coffee will give me the jitters."

"Cookie Dough Chunks."

"Grandma says if you eat cookie dough, it turns into a big ball in your stomach and you'll explode because you can't go to the bathroom."

My grip tightens around the scoop's solid stainless steel handle. "Rocky Road."

"I might choke on a marshmallow."

I am now exerting enough force to embed grip marks in the handle. "Peanut Butter and Jelly Swirl."

"I might breathe on someone who's allergic to peanuts and give them a seizure."

"Pink Bubblegum."

"Dad says eating pink food will turn you into a sissy."

By now, the customers waiting in line are drifting away and heading for Grizz's cart.

"Watermelon Sherbet."

"Aunt Betsy says sherbet is a ripoff because the ingredients are cheaper but you charge the same price."

"Chocolate."

"It's poisonous to dogs, and last week I had a bad cold that made me bark like a dog."

Ah, light at the end of the tunnel. "Vanilla."

"Yeah, that sounds good. One scoop, please."

I'm going to survive without a blood vessel bursting in my brain. I pick up a sugar cone, slap in a scoop of the alabaster confection and swing around.

"There! Vanilla!"

"Thank you, Mister Walruswhomper. See you next week."

Not unless I move back to Nome, kid.