Saturday, June 30, 2012

My Deal with the Devil

Those of you who know me- know my weaknesses. One in particular- Ice Cream. Even CRAPPY ice cream. It is my thing. Once again, I have to hearken back to childhood- if I was upset, had a bad day, got in trouble, whatever- dad would come knocking on the door to my room (sometimes I had actually barricaded myself in there) and say, "Who wants to go to Baskin-Robbins?" It's a strange symbol of comfort and forgiveness, the happiness of being a kid, and summer vacation. Plus, you know, it tastes good.

Ice cream is my kryptonite. I've tried the Coconut Bliss stuff, and it's just not the same. So I tried to keep ice cream- the real, high quality stuff- a manageable part of my life. I would only get a scoop of it at a time. Keeping a gallon or two in the freezer at home was absolutely verboten

So the other night, hubby and I went out to dinner. At the end of it, the server asked if we wanted dessert. I was going to hold out for my scoop of cardamom ice cream from my favorite place. But then I saw the look on my husband's face, and sighed. I got a refill on my iced tea, and he got a monster slice of cheesecake.  "I will take you to get ice cream on the way home!" he promised, through a mouthful of strawberries and graham cracker crust.

We paid the bill, and summarily drove to Three Twins Ice cream, but were greeted by dark windows and a sign that said CLOSED- just in case there was any room for doubt.  "Tomorrow!" he said. I really didn't have much choice in the matter. I had just had a giant salad, a steak and a sweet potato, anyway. I could hang.

The next day, I was scrubbing the bathroom, when he burst in at lunch time. I was red-faced, reeking of cleaning products, and wearing cutoffs and a ratty t-shirt. "Ice Cream?" he said, hopefully.

Ooh. Ice cream. "Yes, please!" I said. And off he went.

He came back with three pints of the stuff. Oh no! "I didn't want it to get all melty in the car," he explained.

So this was the beginning of the perfect storm. Hormonally, I was at that point (the ladies will understand) where I was fully prepared to inhale massive amounts of comfort food, and worry about the consequences later. I don't keep junk food in the house. And now the universe had supplied me with 1.5 (I shared) pints of delicious ice cream.  This is the point where there should be a red phone you can use to call someone to save you from yourself.

I ate my the majority of my ice cream allotment. I started to watch "The Artist", and noticed that my eyelids were getting heavy. I was having trouble concentrating. And that is the last thing I remember. I blamed it on a sugar crash, plus TOM tiredness. Mainly, I was mad because I paid $5.99 for that movie on Pay per View and SLEPT THROUGH IT. D'Oh!

I had to go in for labwork this morning. So I made sure after dinner last night (the next day) that I was careful to cut myself off at 8PM, because they were fasting labs. As it turns out, I had to drive quite a bit to get to the only lab that was open on Saturday. Since I have changed my eating habits, not eating for 16 hours is no big deal. I wasn't particularly hungry- Iwas hot, though, and definitely shouldn't fast after a blood draw. "I really should think about breakfast!" I said to myself. "It's hot, I don't really want eggs." And instead of "Salad!" or "Vanilla protein shake!" my addict brain went, "IIIIICE CREEEEEEAM."

I ate the ice cream for breakfast, and BAM! Sat down on the couch, and that's all she wrote. Call it a sugar crash, call it whatever you want, but that can't be good. Fruit doesn't have this effect on me, and neither do potatoes- my only source of refined sugar is ice cream, and it's looking like I can't tolerate it anymore, except in teeeeeny amounts. Instead of ice cream = comfort, I can change the equation to ice cream = narcolepsy.

I do need to find a decent substitute though. Time to get out the ice cream maker and start experimenting.

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