Never was there a more appropriately named treat as Chocolate Monster ice cream. So ooey, gooey. And the ice cream is so smooth. And the chunks are so yummy. *happy sigh*
The sight, the smell, the taste... They call to me.
I suppose this is what happens when a person has been dieting for too long. After six plus weeks of staying away from all things decadent, I snapped. I couldn't take it any more. I needed something. So I went to the store and bought a half-gallon of the above evil. It was more wonderful than I thought. The small dish I had at first was bad enough. And it sucked me in.
So I had another dish. A great big dish. After weeks of nearly no sweet treats, I could only eat half the bowl in one sitting. (So I stuck the bowl in the freezer, waited a couple hours and ate the rest.) It was worth every calorie.
As I was sitting here writing furiously a few minutes ago, my darling husband walked by with a mountain of the luscious stuff. He's done with his, but I can hear the frozen wonder calling to me from it's perch between the fat free fudgicles and the Weight Watchers ice cream bars. "Eat meeeeee.... Eat meeeeee...." Between its calls, it's laughing at those pathetic desserts. It knows they will never satisfy me.
It's laughing at me.
And it's voice is so cold.
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