When life gives you lemons, you’re supposed to make lemonade.

But when life pushes your scoop of sorbet off you cone an on to the ground, what is the correct philosophical response?

This is something I pondered over the weekend. I was enjoying an ice cream cone and as I enthusiastically went to lick my icy treat, it fell to the ground. In Circular bloody Quay, where every tourist and their trendy dog go, so that ground is filthy. Even the one-second rule doesn’t apply here. Once anything touches the ground, it belongs to the ibises. I mean, obviously you chuck it in the bin so you’r not littering and not making it easy for one of those trash turkeys to mung out on your food, because you love this planet as much as you hate ibises. but eventually those scummy bastards will have your treat in their long, disgusting beaks. Whether fished out of the rubbish or slurped up days later when it has been reduced to bin juice, you can bet one of those filthy creatures will gobble up your treat.

I had carefully selected that lemon sorbet for its refreshing properties   as it was a warm day and I was feeling a little dusty. I almost went with my normal cup option, but decided to go with a cone when my friend did so before me. At first I congratulated myself on selecting a cone over the cup, for this was a treat that deserved the slow, savouring lick of an attentive tongue (yes, I did mean to write that as pornographically as possible). I usually shirk the cone as its very nature means your last bite will taste mostly of cone, but this time I thought I had made the right choice.

I was wrong.

It was the cone that denied me of my zesty treat. Because as I licked enthusiastically, my ball of sorbet fell to the ground. It was like something out of a horror movie. I was in shock. I mean, you hear of it happening to people all the time, but it always happens to other people. Not me. I just couldn’t believe it had happened to me.

You know who you see kids on cartoon burst into tears when the ice cream they’re licking falls to the ground? That’s not an overreaction. In fact, I think they’re slightly downplaying the whole thing. It is a traumatic experience. There are few things that sting as much as dropping food. I mean, rejection and needles come to mind, but they’re pretty much on par.

It wastes your money.

It robs you of a few minutes of sugary delight.

It confirms that the universe is conspiring against you.

While somehow managing to repress a crying fit akin to a two-year-old in any given shopping centre, I scooped the soiled sorbet back into the cone and, defeated, went to throw it into the bin.

But then something stopped me.

Yes, this was a terrible situation. But I was determined to make myself a cool, refreshing glass of lemonade.

So I went back to where I was sitting, and pushed the tarnished dessert back off the cone.

Why?

Because this was the perfect Instagram moment and I wasn’t just doing to throw that away. I was not going to let my emotions get in the way of ripper post.

And so I set up the shot, like a foodie taking a photo of their dinner, except in reverse (which doesn’t make it any better, in fact it’s worse because this was a completely staged shot). I recreated my own trauma like a mugging on Today Tonight.

I mean, I studied journalism and communication. I have two degrees. And my major was in public relations. I was equipped to take this crisis and turn it into a PR opportunity. I was like Kris Jenner, capitalising on an unpleasant situation and making the most of it. And just look what she was able to achieve. I mean, say what you want about them, but they are some well-known, wealthy women. This shitty situation could lead to a reality television series, a hugely successful business venture and even an auto-tuned song about jams (maybe mine could be about lemon curd).

I have learned to take a terrible situation and do something. I would not wallow in despair. I would not let it knock me down. I was determined to spin it on its axis and get something out of it.

So I did.

In a few hours it racked up 48 likes on the gram, and two likes on Twitter (which is great, because basically no one I know uses Twitter and no one who actually uses Twitter is pathetic enough to pay any attention to the shit I send into cyberspace).

So now we know what to do when life pushes your lemon sorbet to the ground, you don’t just cry. You whip out your camera and turn it into a semi-humorous photo opportunity.

Now I’m just waiting for the bidding war over the rights of Keeping up with the Maguires to start. Any day now.