I'm done screaming for ice cream. Phillip and I were invited to an ice cream social/financial planning meeting this week at a local establishment. We don't have much money for anyone to financial plan, but it was free ice cream so we decided to go. When I saw the size of what they were serving I had the weirdest out-of-body experience. I lost all desire to eat ice cream. Ever. Again. Seriously. People all around me were gorging on six and seven scoop sundaes, dripping in caramel and fudge and whipped cream. Some were indulging in mile-high creations of brownies and ice cream and cookies and ice cream and marshmallows and ice cream and bananas and ice cream. I had the odd sensation that I was participating in ice cream voyeurism. It didn't feel right to watch people eat so much ice cream. I ordered a small root beer float, thinking I would be safe with that choice. Think again. It was visually about 15 inches high, filled with scoop after scoop of creamy vanilla ice cream, and foaming over the top with root beer and whipped cream. Every time I would try to take a taste of the ice cream, my straw became a root beer fountain, bubbling root beer up and out and all over me and my surroundings. Never before has my life actually been threatened while enjoying a root beer float. I managed to finish it but just barely. I actually felt so guilty between my eating and observing that I came home and logged 30 minutes on wii fit. I still don't know if that even made a dent. This post is public proof that I promise to remain ice cream and float-free. For-ever. And ever. Amen.