I have a lot of female friends. When they're sad, I try to cheer them up. All of my friends are unique in their own way. There is, however, one commonality: Haagen Daz. This ice cream has become synonymous to me with a break up. I think it's German for "break up," as a matter of fact. I won't give this blog any integrity by looking up the meaning of the name, so we'll move on.
Whenever I answer my phone and I hear a sobbing female voice, not a word needs to be spoken before I head to the car with a five dollar bill at the ready for a pint of peanut butter-chocolate or chocolate-chip cookie dough frozen ecstasy. The crying stops as the first scoop hits her mouth, like a pacifier for crying adults. The slow eaters get the benefit of seeing the remaining half-pint in a liquefied state - only to drink it like a shake.
"You know," I onced mentioned during one of these ice cream benders while watching "The Notebook" with a forelorn female friend, "there's like 1200 calories in that thing."
"I don't care..." she responded... "no one's going to love me again anyways."
Sniff sniff, indeed.
GOOCH:out
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