Posted by: barbaraneill | August 22, 2013

Dyspraxia, three ice creams and mistaken identity

Well, strictly speaking, it’s not really mistaken identity as such, but a misunderstanding, nevertheless.

On holiday in the beautiful Hebden Bridge in West Yorkshire, I noticed that an ice cream van drove along the road at the same time each evening and stopped right outside our holiday cottage. Halfway through the holiday, I decided it would be a good idea to indulge in an ice cream so I waited, eagerly, for the now familiar chimes in the form of ‘Greensleeves’.

Sure enough, at twenty past eight, right on cue, the ice cream van appeared but this time, for whatever reason, stopped at the end of the road. Not really a big problem, as we were only a few doors away from the end of the road. Having taken the orders from my Mum and my youngest son, who both wanted ice cream cornets, (one with a chocolate flake and one without), I nipped out to buy the ice creams.

Of course, being dyspraxic, I had to remember what my Mum and my son wanted and was only slightly confused when I was offered ‘sprinkles’. I chose a scrummy-looking choc ice for myself and would have patted myself on the back if I hadn’t been holding two ice cream cones in one hand and a choc ice in the other!

I picked my way, carefully, along the cobbled street. That’s right; cobbles as well. It was all adding up to an obstacle course for dyspraxics. Because I was aware that it was taking me slightly longer to get back with the ice creams than it would for a neuro-typical person, I burst in through the open front door, declaring, “Quick! Take these before they melt!” I nearly jumped out of my skin when I was met with a chorus of horrified shrieks from the family who were sitting around their dinner table in the house next door to ours!

Fortunately, I was able to keep hold of the ice creams throughout the shock, the realisation, and the heartfelt apology!

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