I’m allergic to ice cream.
Not officially or anything. But every single time I eat it, I get sick. One scoop equals hours of gut-wrenching pain.
I have known this for quite some time. But have I stopped eating ice cream? Noooooooo. Somehow I’ve managed to convince myself that one Burgerville pumpkin milkshake wouldn’t hurt. Or a scoop of ice cream on the warm cherry pie. Or that cone from Ome Calli.
But after a disastrous run-in with a vanilla malt a couple of days ago, I’ve decided to call it quits.
Ice cream, I love you, but we’re just no good together. It’s not you. It’s me.
Well, actually, it’s you.