I then realized I'd had more coffee than food today, which could explain the nervous difficulty of my fingers constantly jumping on the wrong parts of the keyboard, so I went downstairs to make some lunch. While in the kitchen, Haagen Dazs sung its evil siren song to me from the freezer. I don't even know how I hear it when the bottom half of the frig is the only part open. I think it has special Godly powers to transcend the door seals.
Ice cream is a beautiful thing, and as many of you know, I harbor an enduring devotion to coffee in any form as well. If left to my own devices, I would worship at the Church of The Bean day and night. Therefore, in the World of Trayce, coffee ice cream is very much considered the marriage of perfect foods. Haagen Dazs Coffee Ice Cream is like the heavenly appeal of Brangelina - so much pretty in one place, you can't help but imagine the taste. (Uh, yeah, that's not what I meant. Get your mind out of the gutter.)
Unfortunately my particular biochemical composition does not like to play in a polyamorous relationship with coffee, ice cream, or any combination thereof. My Body often reminds me of its zero-tolerance policy for sugary edibles by sending all unapproved substances back out through my skin. My Mind chimes in by circulating a Guilt Memo among the neurons. Ego tells them both to piss off, then sulks in the corner promising to behave better next time while I apply extra makeup to hide my transgressions.
As I was spooning delicious illicitness into my mouth like a drunk sucking down cheap wine (before eating the much-healthier-sandwich I might add), I witnessed through my window one of my neighbors towing a defunct Jeep back to his garage (poor thing! The Jeep, not the neighbor) with just a rope between the vehicles. The Jeep stopped short a couple times with a screech of tires, barely avoiding the rear bumper of the truck ahead.
This is the same neighbor that was offended that my mother wanted to move her car to avoid it being hit while he was trying to unsuccessfully back a boat into his garage, subsequently hitting the corner of a building next door which caused significant damage to both truck and edifice. As far as I know he never reported it to anyone, least of all the owners of the end unit he hit.
My God-What-An-Idiot-He-Should-Know-Better Attitude bristled up and proclaimed, "This is exactly the kind of Willful Ignorance I can't stand. It's no wonder he has a McCain sticker on the back window."
Almost immediately the Cosmos reached down to tap my shoulder, looked me in the third eye, and said, "Hey, Miss I Dislike Willful Ignorance, are you enjoying that ice cream?"