What would you do for a Klondike bar?

My sisters and I love icecream and we always had some in the house growing up. Corinne's normal serving consisted of at least a half gallon piled into a cereal bowl. I thought for sure she'd get heart disease from all that cholesterol by the time she was 13, but somehow she pulled through.

We were always up for going out to get icecream. It could have been the fancy icecream parlor a few cities away or a soft serve cone from the McDonalds down the street... we weren't picky.

One evening my dad was filling us in on the protocol in case of a fire. He asked if we thought we could get him out of the house if he was unconscious. We thought for sure we'd be able to do it and Dad made us a bet, just to make things interesting. He laid down at the bottom of the stairs in the family room and said that if we could drag him up the stairs, he'd take us out to get icecream. I would guess that Corinne was 12, I was 10 and Annie was 8 at the time. Annie and I each took a leg and Corinne grabbed my dad's arms. We pushed and pulled Dad's 215 pounds of dead weight with all our might and he just laid there limp as a rag doll. He didn't move an inch. "Come on you big bunch of wusses!" he'd say and we'd tell him that "unconscious people don't talk!" We tried and tried, probably for a good 15 minutes or more. Nothing. We finally came to terms that we wouldn't be getting any icecream that night. Dad came to terms that if he were to become unconscious in a house fire, he'd be toast.