When my sister and I were kids, our parents would take the family to Baskin Robbins (we called it 31 Flavors) on Friday’s as a treat. Being the round, lover of sweets that I was, come Tuesday my mouth would start to water for that deliciousness. Half of my class time was devoted to figuring out what flavor I was going to try and how I would negotiate a medium size instead of the kid’s scoop (I said I was round! Lol). Alas, Friday came and all of my expectations were fulfilled. But before even fully digesting the cone, I was already thinking about next Friday’s flavor.
True to round girl form, I promised myself that when I became an adult I would have ice cream every day and then I would be completely satisfied. In my teens, I said I’d be satisfied as soon as I had a car of my own. In my twenties, I was going to be satisfied as soon as I got a great job. Time passed. Ice cream was eaten every day in college (my freshman 25), I had my own car (that came with a note, insurance and maintenance costs) and I had a decent job, but satisfied? Not so much.