Do you know what a treat is? A treat is something that you don’t have a lot of or often. If you have it a lot or often then it no longer qualifies as a treat.
Many things in life are a treat … let me stop you here for a quick aside: Sex is not a treat. You should get a lot of it and often. If you aren’t, well, then you are me. Hahahaa!
Not so funny, really.
Yeah.
OK. Treats:
Ice cream is a treat and one that I particularly love. I love good ice cream, not shitty ice cream. Not that “modified milk ingredients” crap*. No, no I like ice CREAM. If it’s a treat then by buggery let’s have it live up to its name.
Because it is a treat, I do not keep it around lest it become part of some mundane routine. (Again, folks, sex is not ice cream. You should be having it at the drop of a hat. Inversely proportional or something. Dammit. )
When I do eat it, by Christ I like it! I loved it as a kid and I love it as an adult. I ate it as a kid and I eat it as an adult. However, despite having aged and matured in many ways, it would seem that I still eat ice cream like I am four. I don’t think I am eating like a four year old. In my mind, I am delicately lapping at my treat, laughing at the witty jokes of my companions and occasionally adding a ribald comment or two myself, in between dainty tastes.
This is how I see myself:
Ohhh look! A Sophisticate and her treat!
You bet your ass I wear pearls while eating ice cream! When made properly, this is a treat worth dressing for. I have my triple scoop on a waffle cone and I am dazzling everyone with my elegant lactose intake!
Or so I thought. I have it on good authority – and the authority being in this case my stupid friends an their handy pocket mirrors, that I may be slightly less polished than the above picture indicates. I may look something like this:
The sad, sad reality.
I wish I were kidding. When I am having one of my really lucid days, I will be self aware enough to ask for the ice cream in a bowl with a spoon. This seems to help a great deal.
And yeah, I did notice how my boobs shrunk with the introduction of reality.
But thanks for pointing it out.
*Obvious exception to that rule is the ice cream sandwich, in which I find beauty and deliciousness in all its forms, from shitty corner store sammie to gourmet versions.
Oh your mean friends! I try not to think about what I look like when I’m eating ANYTHING.
Snack and a half. Love them, eat them…always end up with pieces of the chocolate in my cleavage, on my pants, the sofa, the cat.