I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream

I never eat ice cream….unless it’s summer….or fall….or winter….or spring. But not eating ice cream is the most difficult in the summer. So I indulge once in a blue moon…I swear….then I scream when I get on the scale.

Time to drown my sorrows in a big vat of toffee peanut butter chocolate hazelnut carmel crunch. I don’t need the cone, but if I did it would be a waffle one, dipped in chocolate carmel toffee peanut butter hazelnut crunch.

Then I step on the scale and scream and go to Mullins store and buy out the entire freezer section…..whereupon I’m admitted to the ice cream rehab centre in Sydney. The bastards hold their meetings in the George St. Tim Horton’s and no one listens to a thing because our tongues are panting in the direction of the Coldstone ice cream freezer. We revolt and order the biggest cup size they have…..IF YOU EAT THIS YOU’RE A PIG.

Personally I love pigs so this doesn’t bother me.

But since I have to go on a book tour next month and really need to get into some of the clothes in my closet, I’ve decided to buy this fake ice cream on sticks that’s only 30 calories each.

But it’s not 30 calories when you eat the entire box at one sitting.

So now I’m screaming again. Please….someone shoot me up with some maple walnut.

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