It’s amazing how I never really thought about ice cream.
That is, of course, until I was told that my nut allergy meant that I couldn’t eat about 99.9% of the world’s ice cream.
Adorable ice cream shops in small towns? Nope. Baskin Robbins? Forget about it. Any ice cream on a stick? NO. Isabella went to her bff’s house for a playdate and came home last night with a clown cone for herself and a tub of cookies n’ cream for her family. (Related: her bff is now our entire family’s bff)
Of course, I couldn’t partake.
And now all I want is ice cream.
It’s basically all I can think about.
I realize, of course, that a life without ice cream falls obnoxiously low on the ACTUAL PROBLEM scale, but in my tiny world people’s heads have begun to look like gold medal ribbon and chocolate chip cookie dough and mint chocolate chip scoops, and their limbs are resembling sugar cones and/or waffle cones.
So it’s kind of an issue.
It probably falls just a wee bit slightly higher on the problem scale than my fight with akismet the trusty spam blocker.
That number right there? That’s the amount of spam comments that akismet decided to not catch today. Spam blocker, my heiney. There were about 800 more, but I managed to delete them, 20 at a time. But they are coming in fast and furious, much faster than I can delete by 20s. You can actually see a sample one right there on the right column of this very web page. Sweet, aren’t they? Some are about Sir Anthony’s quivering loins and some are very sweet and tell me how informative they found my blog, but most are about fake rolex watches or Chanel bags or prescription penis enlargement pills and ambien. And some, my favorites, are even in French.
But, I did something that’s extremely new and hard for me to do…it’s also something I’d like to call progress.
Instead of giving myself stomach pains from worry and stress (I have enough stomach pains from the Sriracha that is currently, unfortunately, deliciously destroying my insides) about OH MY GOD MY SITE IS BROKEN THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH, I’m sitting back, laughing, and watching that number rise. Because I doubt there’s anything I can actually do—Jack of All Trades, Master of None—save from using colorful expletives and waiting for akismet to stop hating me, I’m just going to think about ice cream.
I mean, my laptop sort of looks like an ice cream sandwich, doesn’t it?
It’s funny that lyric…Easy Like Sunday Morning.
Because my Sunday mornings, they sure are easy. They are slow and lazy and quiet and it’s the one day a week I actually stay in bed until almost 10am, and in my flannel jammies and extreme bed head I make my way to the kitchen to put on the pot of coffee and eat some leftover baked goods whilst standing over the counter.
It’s my most favorite time of the week.
But Sunday afternoon, though. Oh Sunday afternoon.
Someone should write a song Hectic Like Sunday Afternoon.
We’ll call this: MAGIC SHOW/MOVIE MAKING/PANDEMIC PLAYING.
That’s a snapshot of exactly 3:30pm on Sunday.
I was playing Pandemic with my nephew. I was watching a very exciting Magic Show put on by Isabella The Great and her Assistant Sara The Fabulous. I was filming and directing an important movie about healthy eating staring Emily and her friend Sam.
The good kind, of course.
I mean, I haven’t even thought about ice cream for twenty minutes.