Ice Cream

As promised.

Seriously. I never liked ice cream after I was, maybe, 6. Gram used to take me and I’d get pistachio and we’d race to eat our cones without letting a drip drop. I was a pro. But then it was too sweet. I let it go.

When I got to Austin I want to say every (don’t tell my husband) guy that ever took me on a date would end up at an Amy’s Ice Cream. At least before I could sneak in go to bars. They would be all impressed showing the girl new to town the crazy fanfare of a guy mashing stuff into ice cream as though it’d never been done. I tried to be polite and often would fake surprise, or a “No, this is my first trip for ice cream! Wow!”

That kind of sounded like a dirty euphemism…

Anyway, so way back when Brother came to visit he suggests ice cream. We’re all, why not? We never. I got a REDUCED fat some kind of raspberry-graham-cracker-cheesecake. It was amazingly delicious.

Then Cousin comes to visit. And what do we have? Perhaps five or twelve rounds of cheesecake ice cream, in all different places, with all different fruits. And it’s so good. I could live on it.

Except – needless to say, when company comes my gym time declines. So now that I’ve stepped it up to running and weights daily, which I call my “two-a-days”, my question is this:

Ice Cream, anyone?

With posts like this it’s not had to understand why this blog is hitting all time traffic highs.

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