I don’t know, the ice cream code where you live. But here in New England, we can walk up to an ice cream stand and order a “small” yet walk away with a pint of frosty deliciousness. You don’t even have to wink or do the quote thing with your fingers when you say, “small”. It’s an unspoken understanding that the cheery teen behind the counter knows, when you say “small”, you mean large enough to make me feel sick for the rest of the day. Once the dish is handed over you can play the, “Oh my! That’s so much ice cream! I only ordered a small game.” The people in line behind you gasp at the overflowing bowl. Then order the same thing. Chris and I get a bucket of the sweet stuff once a week in the summer. This past Saturday I marched up to our local counter and confidently placed our order, a “small” Wookie Cookie and a “small” Salted Carmel. You must request a dish because everyone knows a cone equals a disaster. The smiley young lady skipped away and returned holding two SMALL cups in her hands! They were a fraction of the usual size! Who’s is that? Mine? Is she new? Of course I said this in my mind! No one verbally expresses “I want more out loud!” I must admit I felt gypped. My husband was sitting under a tree with the dogs, waiting for his dessert of the week! How can I present him with this itty bitty thing? I walked away disappointed and handed the measly scoop to Chris. I just shrugged and said,” I know!” We truly enjoyed every bite like always. But a funny thing happened! I was satisfied, happy and I didn’t experience that bulb bulb feeling that typically follows our weekly ice cream ritual. Chris and I discussed our feelings physically and mentally and decided once we got over the initial shock, a true small is really better in every way! Who knew… less really is more!?