When that sizzling summer sun reaches through the window, grabs you by your “No Bitchin’ in the Kitchen” apron, and shouts, “Hot stuff coming at you,” arm yourself with a Popsicle sword and a pint of ice cream. Tell everyone to get out because tonight, you’re serving ice cream and fruit as the main course, and the base is an angel food cake cloud.
Back when I was a wild, carefree graduate student, spending my wild and carefree nights, reading hundreds and thousands of page-turning literary theory, (the average sentence length was 5,000 words), I would treat myself to angel food cake and ice cream for dinner. Then, when Nate came into my life, he would say things like, “Do you think you have time for a hike?” And I’d look at him and say, “I have time for a bowl of ice cream and a hunk of angel food…
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