Sweet and Sour
When life goes bonkers there’s always ice cream
I’m in my kitchen. 11 AM. I look around. There can be no witnesses to what I am about to do. Good. I’m alone. My husband must be working in his office at the other end of the house. I’m all instinct now. An animal after its prey. Ravenous. Nothing can stop me. I grab a tablespoon from the drawer, open the freezer and pull out a tub of Double Chocolate Brownie Batter Ice Cream. I dig out the hunks with all the sweet brownie chunks. The spoon overflows with chocolate dripping onto my fingers, onto the kitchen counter. In an eyeblink, this cool creaminess is gone. I lick the spoon, my sticky fingers, and walk away.
I run my tongue along my teeth looking for leftover brownie pieces-craving more chocolate, more cream. Nothing there but the nasty, unsatisfying aftertaste of chalk and sugar. I blame this ice-cream crisis squarely on my husband.
He and I have been together every single day for 18 months during the Corona Quarantine. I am absolutely positive if he didn’t buy this cheap, bargain-brand ice cream with cheesy, over-hyped flavors that taste like air, I wouldn’t be standing in my kitchen like a depraved animal — spoon lifted — desperate to scoop and devour another spoonful just to make up for how bad the first spoonful tasted. Totally his fault.
Besides, who else can I blame for my shitty mood this morning? I can’t scream at the 107-degree Portland temperatures, raging fires, and rising Covid rates for getting in the way of a trip to visit our daughter. I can’t bitch to our son about his business meeting running so late today that he would miss his flight home if he came for a visit. I can’t reason my body into not aching. I can’t complain to anyone, when, for no particular reason, my plans for the rest of the day fall apart like a house of cards.
So, I turn to a tub of ice cream. Maybe ice cream isn’t the best way to solve a problem but that is what I need this morning. Some mornings it’s meditation, some a hike, some a long hot shower. But, in this moment, Double Chocolate Brownie Batter sings its siren’s song, and I am powerless to resist.
I inhale the second spoonful nearly choking on the frozen brownie bits. This will not end well. As I lick my lips, I imagine pouring out my anger and disappointment at my husband’s poor ice cream choice.
“If you really truly knew my heart, if you truly loved me, you would have brought home a precious, perfect pint of Haagen-Dazs Vanilla Bean.”
I’m feeling really sorry for myself. My stomach tightens, my eyes fill with tears at this injustice. Maybe I didn’t actually tell him, but still…Shouldn’t he just know??
I’m building up imaginary steam. I scold and criticize,
“Did you think about a flavor I would like when you bought this Double Chocolate Brownie Batter Ice Cream?” He knows this is to be true. I’ve struck home. Hit his sweet spot in the way only a spouse of thirty years can. I’ll bet he averts his eyes. Gotcha.
He might even respond to me in his own sweet, sensible, and logical way. “Oh, this brand was on sale — 4 dollars for 48 ounces- plus it has chocolate AND brownies doubled. What is so bad about that? Twice as much stuff AND for less money.”
Even though my husband is blissfully unaware of our conversation, and we’ve never actually had this argument, thinking about it makes me even angrier.
“Hey,” I yell back to him in his office, “I’m going for a walk.” By the time I return, I am in a fine mood.
This evening after dinner, he pulls the tub of Double Chocolate Brownie Batter ice cream out of the freezer and opens the lid.
“Want some?” he asks.
“No, I don’t think so,” I say. He picks up the ice cream scoop. His eyes widen as he takes in the depleted stash. he looks pointedly at me, “Boy, somebody really got into this.”
I am silent, shrug my shoulders as silent as the mystery intruder who probably ate all that ice cream. I promise myself that tomorrow I will buy myself a pint of Vanilla Bean Haagan Dazs.
