yes, i’m having issues with ice cream.
real issues. love affair issues.
i have trouble with the trending non-existence of pint-size ice cream servings - you know, the just right personal serving size to quell some heartbreak sort of size, i gotta tell you it’s becoming quite a rarity.
such is the burden that my ice cream cravings, and necessities (on highly volatile days for my temper) have to be answered by sundae. a pretty tall order for the species.
forgive me, sundae… sure, you’re accessible, so you’re always there when i need a friend. but i’d be happy to trade you for a pint-size double-dutch supreme anytime. ice cream is like Mr. Right. and sundae, is Mr. Right Now. who wouldn’t want to be with Mr. Right all the time, right?
now, this is my sole analogical preference. it’s alright, sundae. i’m pretty sure there’s someone out there, sane than me, who takes you for Mr. Right. thanks for the available relief though. you still are, after all, a concubine in the messy affair.
now someone hand me a catsup sachet.