My uncle use to love screwing with our heads as children. He’d be driving along in the Volare and we’d be all rowdy (no seatbelts, half of us in the back cargo area) and he’d say, “Hey boys! How’d you like to go by some ice cream?” We’d get all excited (of course) and then he’d tell us that we need to sit and be real quiet and we’d go by some ice cream. About 15 minutes later he’d point out the ice cream store (Baskin-Robbins) and he’d drive by it. We’d ask why we didn’t stop and he’d say, “We went by some ice cream. Now you can even say good-bye ice cream.” Isn’t that torture? L