Musings of an Undefeated Matriarch
Summer without a double dip ice cream cone is like a pub with no beer. It’s unthinkable!
There’s something irresistible about a cone that brings out the child in all of us. As adults we wouldn’t dream of licking our plates as we did when we were kids. No matter how many times our parents reprimanded, we still licked those plates with all the gusto of Rover. We were determined to get every speck of whatever delicious morsel was stuck to the dish.
Most of us leave childish habits behind except when it comes to ice cream cones. Our tongue will curl around a cone as happily as ivy intertwines a trellis. Whether waffle or wafer, a cone piled high with vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry ice cream is one of life’s guilty pleasures. I say “guilty” because those of us packing extra pounds should forego the calories, but it’s summer and who can resist?
Perhaps you have more willpower and walk by the shops without giving a second glance to the signs advertising delicious hormone-free ice cream. Within a few miles of my home, the lure of ice cream is powerful. It’s not fair. I’m supposed to attend a wedding in November. I’m supposed to be dieting so I can squeeze into a fancy dress. I’m supposed to be doing a lot of things other than licking sweet cream as it drips from a cone.
But instead of obediently turning a blind eye to my guilty pleasure, I’ve developed a habit that’s hard to break no matter the consequences. Since I discovered Jacked-Up Tennessee Toffee all my good intentions have flown out the window. I’ve never been partial to Bubble Gum, Blue Moon, or dozens of other odd combinations, but Ashby’s Sterling Jacked-Up made in Michigan ice cream is hard to ignore.
Some establishments are more generous than others. A few proprietors pile the cone high and a single dip resembles a triple. At other shops, one dip is the size of a radish, but no matter. I plunk down the asking price and continue on my way.
Looks like I’ll be ordering Spanx to go with my new dress. After all, I’m not the bride.
Nobody’s going to be checking me out, so make mine a double. And don’t stop there. Sprinkle a few nuts on it and a dash of caramel. Maybe what I really want is a hot fudge sundae. I suppose after my ice cream binge is over I’ll have to return to the Rock Diet. You’ve never heard of it?
A few years ago I was down in the dumps because I had gained weight. My brother told me about his special diet. He said it was fairly new and hadn’t been tested on too many rats but was guaranteed to work. The Rock Diet was simple. All a person had to do was carry a rock and watch the weight melt away. The rock prevented snacking and binging. Ed said most people had never heard of it because it hadn’t been reviewed on the Dr. Oz show.
I figured if one rock was good, two were better. I went outside and found the prettiest ones on the ground. I put one in my purse and one in my pocket and went to town. My first stop was Dairy Queen. As I enjoyed my banana split, I wondered why my rocks didn’t make me feel guilty. Ice cream with fruit must be okay, I reasoned. When I finished my split, I stopped at Arby’s for some curly fries. Surely the Rock Diet will kick in now, I thought, but my rocks remained silent.
I had one more stop to make to test the strength of my rocks and the veracity of the diet. I headed for Domino’s and a thin crust pepperoni pizza. We all know thin crust is like eating soda crackers, and they certainly have no calories. I munched away while my rocks were as mute as a mime. Regardless of what I consumed, it went like that for the rest of the day. The Rock Diet was a total failure.
Maybe I should have listened more closely when my brother stressed the importance of daily exercise and sensible dining. But you know how we dieters are. We have a tendency to ignore the fine print, so go ahead and make mine a double. November and that wedding are a long way off.
You know what I mean, don’t you?