Even when I’m sitting down with a fresh gallon of vanilla ice cream in my lap, I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t even know what aspect of the ice cream it is that I’m thinking about so much, either. Am I thinking about how yummy it is to me? Or is it about how the sharp coldness feels in my warm mouth as it melts and rolls down my throat into my waiting belly?

      I realized the other day that vanilla ice cream is so pure and awesome to me. When I think about how imperfect I am when compared to a bucket of Blue Belles Country Goodness Vanilla Ice Cream, I look into the sky and shed tears of childlike joy and wonder.

      I prayed the other day and asked God why I like the ice cream so much, and though I never really got an audible answer back from Him, when I went to the grocery store for a post-midnight creamy snack that night, my ice cream was on a two-for-one sale. I guess that was God telling me in his own special way that I was meant to eat this ice cream.

      I wasn’t even supposed to write this article about ice cream. I was supposed to write about how that Subway diet doesn’t really work too well if you eat three foot-long meatball subs every day for breakfast.

      Well, I’ve just about finished the bucket of ice cream that I strapped onto my face before I started writing, so I have to walk all the way over to the freezer to get a refill. I hope I don’t think about ice cream before I get there. Otherwise, I might have to get two buckets.