…if i love ice cream so much, why doesn’t it love me back?
Since I was preggers with Minime more than a decade ago, certain foods have decided to longer be my friend. The dairy group as a whole broke up with me pretty much. I refuse to let it go: it’s not you, it’s me, we’ll figure something out!
I can’t have plain ol’ milk without getting heinously sick. When I was in Jamaica, they had this awesome cold porridge stuff with oats and nuts and fruit and they covered the whole thing in milk. I ate this delicious stuff every morning I was there! And I got sick every day I was there after my porridge, agonizing stomach cramps galore… Of course on day 3 or so, my then hubby Mr. Kat 2.0 suggested I stop eating the magic porridge for breakfast. I suggested he piss off and stop bossing me around because I was completely willing to trade a bowl full of truly wonderful yum for an hour of misery.
I can do a little yogurt, sometimes even a little cheese…but ice cream is different…
Ice cream I can eat in moderation. “Moderation” tends to mean that I shouldn’t eat the entire container of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food for dinner. Moderation is something I’m not good at—the way I live tends to be pedal to the metal, go for it; moderation is for wimps, wusses and nancyboys. Really, to avoid the drama and pain, I shouldn’t have ice cream at my house at all…
…But somehow, I magically had this big ol’ container of Moose Tracks in my freezer. I don’t know how it got there. Magic, I guess, because surely I’m not so stupid that I would buy something that causes me pain??!! I decided I wanted the little chocolatey bits out of the Moose Tracks last night, so I set about digging into the container and excavating the chocolate out when I hit the motherlode: my spoon hit a ribbon of fudgey goodness so wide and wonderful that I felt giddy. I knew right then and there that the entire ribbon of fudge was mine, but I would have to dig it out…and it only made sense to eat the ice cream along the way to get to the fudge. The search for the ribbon of fudgey goodness took an evil turn as I ate more ice cream than one would call “moderate…” I got it! I got the entire ribbon out, extracted the frozen chocolate happiness just as the stomach pain kicked in…oh helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll. I really couldn’t decide if I was going to barf in the freezer (as all of this is taking place standing up in the kitchen, freezer door ajar) or if I was going to double over in pain from the gut-wrenching cramps on the floor right there.
I decided to stagger to bed, given that I should’ve been in bed maybe an hour before that anyway. And just before I dropped off to sleep in the fetal position of agony, I thought about how much I liked digging the chocolate fish out of Phish Food so much better than I like the stuff in Moose Tracks…