I have a thing for ice cream. And doughnuts, and brownies, but today, we will just focus on the ice cream. As a defender of sugar, cream, and hefty caloric goodness, I believe frozen yogurt is a perversion of dessert and a mockery of icy treats. For this reason, I have never in my life, EVER, suggested getting yogurt, although I am a social yogurt-er when girls’ nights arise.
Things changed this weekend. I had a dream about Pinkberry, which skewed my sensibility and everything I stand for. I shocked Brian by insisting on a trip to a yogurt place down the street, which is not, I repeat, NOT Pinkberry.
After we weighed in and paid a thousand dollars for it (I’m sorry, are the bowls weighted?), we sat down and ate before Gus got bored gnawing on straws and plastic spoons. Brian asked what I got. Kit Kats, Reese’s, chocolate sprinkles, Oreos, chocolate fudge, some cherries…I was still rattling off the contents of my bowl when he specified what YOGURT I got. I realized I only plopped a little on the bottom of the cup as a base for the sour gummy worms.
Time to pull out the Team Ice Cream shirt.
In other weekly news, I hosted a “Vegas, baby!” baby shower at my house. My only regret was not inviting Elvis, but as it turns out, a month’s advance notice is required for the popular Elvi (plural) from here. What a let down.
Being a desert boy, Gus is going to be a devout pool baby. Our families ‘ pools, neighborhood pools, hotel pools…he needed a quick introduction. He had his first “swimming” experience this week with our friends Sarah and Trey. Gus was a little unsure about the water, but maybe it’s because he was distracted trying to eat Trey’s hat and my hair, alternately.
Mom needs a tan, so hopefully this pool thing grows on him. He will be sold once I coach him in skinny dipping.