In My Defense…

on Jun 13, 2012 by Michael Rupured

I need to talk about the photograph that showed up on my Facebook page late yesterday afternoon. The emails I’ve received, the comments people made on the original Facebook post, and the things people have said to me since they saw the photograph demand a response. Today I’m here to offer my defense.

People want to know what’s in the bowl. It’s ice cream (Neopolitan, so of course I had to have some of all three flavors) drizzled with chocolate syrup (Hershey’s. Is there another kind?), covered with whipped topping, dusted with sprinkles and peanuts, and finished with just a little more chocolate syrup. I spent my first two years in the workforce dipping ice-cream, so I know a thing or two about making sundaes.

M.L. from Fresno asks, “Was it good?”

Seriously? I mean you really need to ask? Yes, every nummy-licious bite was absolutely fabulous.

Was it too much?

Absolutely not. The ice-cream was really hard, so I couldn’t chip out nearly as much as I really wanted. Say something about waiting for it to soften a bit. I dare you.

I didn’t chop up a banana to put on top of the ice-cream or add any maraschino cherries, either. Never mind that there wasn’t any cake, or cookies, or pie and that the ice-cream and whipped cream were both low fat varieties. All this focus on the negative just brings me down so you’re going to have to stop.

I would add that I didn’t bring anything in my bowl into the house. My sweet partner brought the sprinkles, nut topping, and whipped cream home from an ice cream social at his office and bought the ice-cream. With all the starving children, I couldn’t let it go to waste.

The photograph is presented as evidence for what’s really undermining my healthy lifestyle. Poppycock. Milk is good for strong bones, and I sleep better after consuming a shit-ton of sugar, fat, and carbs before I go to bed. Works better than tryptophan and melatonin combined.

Look closely and you’ll see I’m wearing one of my official Zumba tank tops. Obviously, I’d just come from an hour of rigorous booty-shaking at the gym. I agree with the relatively small contingent of commenters who said I deserved a little reward for all my hard work.

Besides, my affection for a nightly dish of ice cream is no surprise. I’ve mentioned it numerous times here on the blog. Thanks to J.C . and others who suggested organizing a support group for people with ice-cream addictions. It’s nice to know you care, but no thanks.

Why not? Because I am a grown-ass man. I’m gonna do whatever I want and then blog about it here on…

My Glass House

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