It's a Holy Cow!

Where I am:
Tribal people walk all around, always barefoot, their arms the size of broomsticks. They sometimes go months without food, having to borrow from money lenders who charge them more than half of the next harvest's yield, reinstating the cycle. They sit there with mats, selling vegetables in little individual piles for pennies each. Every now and then when they get really hungry, they'll shuck open some pea pods and eat the hard little peas. And there are cows roaming everywhere, enough to feed a village. But they wouldn't dare touch one, because its a holy cow!

Where I'm from:
Squeezed into a big booth at the Newport Creamery in RI, ordering the ultimate in all desserts. Not the Awful Awful shake (Awful big, Awful good) this time, but even better. The motherload. 12 scoops of ice cream, 6 bananas, whipped cream, caramel, nuts, 10 cherries, chocolate sauce and 8 long-handled spoons. We are plotting how we are going to trick the waitress by putting our loose pennies in an upside-down glass full of water when cowbells start ringing and the whole restaurant stares at us as the waiters and waitresses bring the giant sundae our way and shout, it's a holy cow!