Ice Cream.

Oh God, I love dessert. I think I must have been a cupcake or a root beer float in a former life. Like most women, I enjoy window shopping. But, whereas most women like to gaze longingly at expensive jewelry and Manolo Blahniks, I pine after desserts.

Especially ice cream.


I always want ice cream. ALWAYS. It does not matter if I have just spent three hours walking through a blizzard. I want ice cream. It does not matter if I am stricken with a stomach virus. I want ice cream. It does not matter if I am dieting so I can wear a fabulous dress to my 10 year high school reunion. I WANT ICE CREAM.

Sometimes, I pray that my chromosomes mutate and I develop adult-onset lactose intolerance. But even if I was lactose intolerant, I would probably still want ice cream. Damnit.