Last night, under safety and shroud of darkness, I did the unthinkable. I committed the least socially acceptable act I have ever personally done, which is saying a lot from someone who is considered so generally socially unacceptable. I know this changes a lot of things for a lot of people, but I just. Can't. Help. Myself.
Last night, I had a bowl of vanilla ice cream. Nothing else, just plain old vanillay vanilla.
And I liked it.
Not just liked it, but REALLY liked it. Liked it so much that I question what I've been doing pouring that syrupy chocolate crap over my awesome vanilla all of these years. Who invented that stuff anyway (Mr. Hershey, I'm calling you out). Not chocolate, of course. Real chocolate is incredible and I will fight anyone who says differently in their face. Right in their face. I mean that bottle of liquidy baby diarrhea that every American family has stored in their fridge since the turn of the last century. Who had the audacity to profane the name of my glorious Vanilla Ice Cream and insist that we use the sticky poo bottle to "liven it up"?!?
Well no more for me folks. I'm liberated from the "syrup", and I fully intend to continue eating Plain Ol' (More like Plain INCREDIB-Ol') Vanilla.
Okay, my kid insists he needs attention now, but here's your PSA for the day: Vanilla. It'll freaking rock your face off.
And you're welcome.
Stories and gripings about exercise, dieting, life, and what it's been like learning to leave the love handles behind.
Try Trader Joe's Premium Vanilla. It's my favorite (beating out all other flavors) ice cream (and tastes UH-mazing as part of a chocolate stout float).
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