ice cream

I came across this, written some time early last year, after Valentine's Day ... probably thinking about the Chilton County peaches ... becoming ripe.    I was thinking about peachy delicious creamy ice cream. Or ... maybe something slippery with chocolate syrup.   I even bought a neat ice cream freezer in support of homemade.  Oh well.  Ice cream ... sigh.

I've always wondered what happens ... where, how, why does it happen ... that people will knowingly choose to do something that they know is wrong for them. I'm thinking about one of those things that is so pleasant to think about doing ... maybe a secret indulgence ... so pleasant.

As an example ... I mean, the whole touching a hot stove type thing. If I touch it, I know I will get burned. I want to stand near enough to be warmed by the radiating heat ... or maybe I need to prepare a small meal. The flame is necessary and then surprisingly, delightfully, warm and I realise that I am so cold and have been cold, or maybe just hungry ... cold and hungry. Then the heat is not enough, and I just scoot a little bit closer and next thing I know, I'm walking around with my brand new very cool under armour tee with a hole, heat seared down there by the hem line. I did that. I wear it sometimes to remind me that gas burners are awesome to cook on, greatly preferred, but you have to stay mindful ... watch your business, or you might ... will ... end up burned. It's that high-tech nylon. I'm lucky it didn't go up in flames.

My right arm was badly burned while I was in college. The doctors were amazed at how well it healed. No one even notices the scars ... 'cept me. I remember that it was a single act of carelessness and it hurt me ... not just the arm, my whole body felt the pain of it. To this day, I notice it shows the effects of the sun ... and other heat sources way before the rest of my skin does. It's still sensitive ... damaged.

This thing I'm thinking about ... it's like ...

I am on a diet, it's just after St. Valentine's Day and probably most Americans are still honoring their New Year's resolutions of proper diet and exercise. I am. So far so good. I am honoring my commitment.
My husband was home today for lunch and after a healthy, conscientious meal (chicken quesadillas with black beans ... cilantro is in season!), I heard him in the pantry rummaging around and he came out offering me a cookie ... or more ... he had a whole package. We have another social event tonight and I have to save my calories for a little half glass of wine ... I was able to say, "No thanks". Fortunately, I am not hungry for cookies. Ben and Jerry's makes an unmentionable flavor of ice cream that I know I can not, will not resist. I just don't allow it in the grocery cart ... not even for the garage frig! But, oh how I wish I could. Even the packaging is seductive ... and you know there is smooth silky decadence available within ... one spoonful at a time ... could I make it last? ... once tasted what would be the costs?
I've been thinking about that ice cream today ... this started yesterday. We were at the grocery store and something reminded me of how I long for one tiny little harmless bite. ... Maybe out of someone else's container. ... Maybe if the bite is small enough no one would even miss it ... . I'm being silly. As audacious as I might be on occasion, I know I would never ever ever ever take ... steal ... something that could be mine only if it were stolen. Borrowed ... shared ... there's probably a PC word for it. And besides, even a teeny tiny taste, no matter how smoothed out and re-packaged, would be noticed ... missing ... but where? how? why?
Ice cream is serious business. I know how it feels to get home with a container that someone else has had their fingers in ... it ruins your day.

I hear the music from the ice cream truck and I want to run outside ... but ice cream is not on my diet.

I can hear the music ... and I am certain that he has my flavor.