Home > Uncategorized > Staging an Ice Cream Intervention

Staging an Ice Cream Intervention

I came home in a malaise, a funk of sorts.  To use my second language, Texanese, I had something “stuck in my craw.”  I had a pretty good idea of what was bothering me, but the origins of this malaise are irrelevant to this post.  The point is I was in a mood of sorts and I wanted to lift my spirits.  Being a a sugar-holic, prone to indulging in chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and ice cream, I grabbed a bowl and a spoon, having decided that a bowl of ice cream would be just the thing I needed.

I opened the freezer and discovered a bigger problem.

It wasn’t that we were out of ice cream or even missing my favorite flavor.  (Side note:  How can there be a favorite flavor of ice cream?  Wouldn’t that be like a parent of multiple children trying to choose their favorite child?  Doesn’t a parent always say “You’re all my favorites?”)

No, this was the problem.  (Please note this is an actual picture of the cartons of ice cream I pulled from my freezer.  Not pictured was the Blue Bell Caramel Turtle Cheesecake because it had been finished off the week before or the half-gallon of vanilla ice cream because it wouldn’t fit in the picture.)

Ice Cream Cartons

We had too much ice cream.  It was time to stage an ice cream intervention.  On myself.

Can you do that?  Well, I was gonna try.

From what I’ve seen and read, the first step is admitting you have a problem.  I couldn’t blame the wife because I’m the one who does the shopping and buys the ice cream.  I had to take responsibility for this.  I couldn’t keep blaming Blue Bell and other ice cream manufacturers for making irresistible ice cream in a multitude of flavors.  I am the guilty one.

Well, admitting I had a problem was easy enough, but I still had all this ice cream.  I needed a solution.

I could throw it all away, every single carton.  I could do that.  Maybe.  But I might have to sleep with one eye open for the next few nights.  My wife and son are quite fond of their ice cream as well.  In moderation of course.

The more I thought about it, I couldn’t throw it all away.  I’d spent too many hours driving too and from work, sitting in traffic, to make the money to buy this ice cream.  I wasn’t tossing my beloved ice cream in the trash.

If I couldn’t throw it away, maybe I could have a party.  An ice cream party.  Invite a bunch of people over to help eat all this ice cream.  I might be able to do that.

No, I couldn’t.  Again, I’d spent too many hours driving too and from work, sitting in traffic, to make the money to buy this ice cream to then WATCH my friends freeloaders friends (sorry) eat all my ice cream.  I don’t mind sharing some of it from time to time, but to give it all away?  That seemed sort of extreme.

Then I had another idea.  The perfect plan.

First, I would wait until the wife and son were asleep.

Second, I would eat all the ice cream.  Every last spoonful.

Third, I would enter the torture chamber (see picture below) and work off the approximate one million calories ingested in this ice cream binge.  (I might have to make sure there was a bucket nearby, you know, it case my body revolted against me.)

Torture Chamber

It would be worth it.  Sometimes, you have to suffer to get where you want to be.  Or something like that.

Yep, it was time for an ice cream intervention.


I feel better now.  Sometimes, when you’ve got something “stuck in your craw” it helps to have a sense of humor.  And a bowl (or two) of ice cream doesn’t hurt either.

Having checked out my Dad’s freezer many times, I know he would approve.  Like father, like son.


PS:  In case you didn’t get it, I really didn’t eat all this ice cream.  There’s plenty left for our friends on their next visit.  But you better get here soon.

Categories: Uncategorized
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  1. August 21, 2013 at 7:33 am

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