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2007-06-01 @ 11:00 a.m. |
I've been wondering lately, why every time I pondered that ponderous question, "when the hell am I EVER going to get laid", I would immediately drive down to the grocery store and buy a pint of bear claws ice cream and eat the entire thing. I was like Pavlov's dog. Think of sex...eat ice cream. sex...ice cream. sex...ice..creamsex, sex. It was tres annoying! But then I started noticing something really weird yesterday. There I was in the frozen foods department, furtively scooping up my single helping carton of bear claw ice cream (cream. sex...ice cream. sex...ice..creamsex, sex. Sorry, my therapist says I'm obsessive) and suddenly I looked around and saw at least a half a dozen other middle aged women surreptitiously clutching small cartons of ice cream to their bosoms, looking just about as guilty as I was feeling. And then I realized the absolute fucking marketing genius behind the whole thing. Some well-dressed metrosexual somewhere realized that not all women have access to accessible fuckbuddies, so he sat back at his well-polished Stickley desk and pondered the ice cream sex equation. But of course! It was brilliant! Make tiny hand sized cartons of sugary, fatty goodness...the same stuff that makes you feel like you're in love. Put a reasonable price on it (not like Ben and Jerry's, which I think only Britney Spears can afford) and then Voila! You have a recession proof multimillion dollar empire! If only I could have thought of that! Needless to say, I had a carton of bear claw ice cream yesterday. My third this week. Hey, my horoscope said I was going to be unstoppable in the romance department. I actually think it was a typo. I think they might have just meant I was unstoppable in the frozen foods department. Older Entries |
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty |
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