The other day I go into bed with a mini ice cream sandwich. In Texas, we have a brand of ice cream called Blue Bell. It’s a pretty big staple down here; almost all the kids who grow up in Houston take at least one field trip to the Blue Bell factory in Brenham, TX, at minimum of one time in their life. The sandwiches are creamy, little bricks of deliciousness and are relatively small – about 2” x 4”. They aren’t terribly messy but the cookie part is sticky and leaves some residue. I ate one in bed and she let it slide. When I got up to get the second one, there was a mounting frustration building in her that I could sense, but I passed it off as annoyance towards something on the television. When I got up to get a third one, she asked me quite politely to stop eating them in bed. All of our bed ware (?) is white, so I guess she was worried about me leaving chocolate smudges on the bed. I tend to wipe my fingers on the nearest bit of cloth. He he. The question is what kind of world is this where I can’t eat three ice cream sandwiches in bed? There are some injustices that will never be rectified.
Oh yeah, I ate two of them before she got in bed and the wrappers were resting, empty on the night stand. I guess this could also be Weight Control Problem Part III.
Note: I mentioned before that I had the bad shampoo, and I wanted to use my wife’s nice shampoo. She bought me some nice shampoo! It’s minty and REALLY tingly. Like, I get out of the shower and it tingles for 10 more minutes. Crazy. Thanks benevolent wife!