In preparation for the upcoming warm-weather season, my favorite Ice Cream shop, The Twisted Cone, has brought in new ice cream flavors.
It’s overload for me. I want to eat them all.
Look at the choices. I have inappropriate thoughts in my head…all of which involve me, a gallon sized serving bowl, and a few dozen napkins…. I mean LOOK at these choices:
The Rum Raisin is the killer. I think that’s why they put it in red ink. I’ve been known to neglect my husband, my kids, and my work while face down in a gallon tub of rum raisin.
I’m not proud of it. It’s just who I am.
And now, as if all of the above is not bad enough news for my plaque-encrusted arteries, look what they have to serve this deliciousness in:
That’s right…my overly pink and rather wrinkly hand is holding a pretzel cone. A cone of pretzel. For holding cold, sweet ice cream. Stop drooling on your keyboard, friends. It’s bad for the circuits.
But focus on that crispy salty wonder, will you? Consider the magnitude of genius that had to come up with that.
It really doesn’t take much to make me happy, does it?
Some say the secret to a good marriage is communication. Some say compromise. Some say tolerance.
My Captain knows the secret to peace and longevity in our marriage is a constant flow of Twisted Cone ice cream. God help us if they ever close.