I just finished an ice cream. I'll wait, while someone alerts the media.
This was a vanilla soft-serve ice cream, with sprinkles. If I were among my people, I'd just call it "custard", and the topping would be called "jimmies" because Philadelphians call soft-serve ice cream "custard" and we call sprinkles "jimmies". But I suspect there's be a lot of what-the-hell looks out there if I wrote that I just ate custard in a cone with jimmies, so I'll bow to the common usage, just for the sake of clarity.
Where was I?
Right, the ice cream. It's not like I don't eat ice cream, it's just that I don't usually say "sure, let's go" when a kid asks for ice cream at 8:30 on a school night when I haven't finished cleaning up the kitchen, and then there are showers to take and stories to read. But that's what I did. It's this whole "lighten the hell up" initiative that I've put in place for this summer. The fact that I refer to it as an "initiative" and that I feel the need to document every ice cream run and pool visit would suggest that I have quite a ways to go before I can consider myself fully lightened up, but it's a step. It's incremental progress.
In other news, I might or might not have an essay published soon in a real live well-known publication. I have to make some edits, and if the editor likes the second draft, then it might appear in actual print, followed by a check payable to me. That's all I'll say for now. Send me prayers or positive thoughts, according to your beliefs.