We All Scream When Bill Eats Cream

My husband is a cool dude. He’ll make me breakfast every day, if I ask, he’ll occasionally give me a heavenly foot rub without begging, and he’s so freaking handy, he’s remodeled our house to my exact specifications. 

It’s actually quite unbelievable except when it comes to ice cream. Where that frozen confection is concerned, he’s one weird motherf*cker.

Let’s begin with the box: Around 9:30 pm, he takes it out of the freezer, heaves it on the counter with a giant THROWMP! and says, Geez, this is hard! as if he’s never handled a box of ice cream and is completely unaware of how a freezer works.

Rather than soften ice cream on the counter like a normal person, he insists on chiseling at it with various kitchen utensils - knives, spatulas, soup spoons. He’ll use anything other than the super duper designed to slightly melt the ice cream, making it easier to remove from the carton scoop that I gifted him one Father’s Day, because he doesn’t want to take the time to look for it in the drawer.

Once enough ice cream has been drilled and chiseled from the carton, Mr. I’m-Think-I’m-Really-Laid-Back-And-Don’t-Care-About-Anything MUST eat his ice cream from either a red or blue FiestaWare bowl because…well…who the hell knows. I’m not even sure he can explain it, but there are zero exceptions to bowl color. Lord help us if the red or blue bowls are in the dishwashers because OMG the fussing!

The ice cream is then doused - not drizzled - with that weird chocolate stuff in a squeeze bottle that gets hard when it’s poured on ice cream, followed by puddles of chocolate and caramel sauce, followed by half a can of Reddi Whip and then sprinkled with crushed cookies, cashews, M&Ms (that get rock hard when they get cold and good luck not breaking a tooth) and various other candy bits we have in the pantry. 

Who on earth wants to eat that? Who on earth CAN eat that without going into a sugar shock or a diabetic coma? I’m kind of heaving just thinking about it, but Bill, with his animal urges, devours it while making nom-nom noises.

The photograph below is actual evidence of the concoction he consumed right before bed (sans Reddi-Whip and cookie crumbles to lower the calorie load), after which he jumped up, held his stomach, and said, “I don’t know why I always get heartburn at 10 pm.”

Yeah, Bill. Neither do I.