Last night after a round of putt putt at the Cancun Lagoon course, I finally ordered something I have wanted to try this whole month. For the first time since arriving in Myrtle Beach I hit up a Dairy Queen and got my hands on a Chips Ahoy Blizzard. Although I don’t know if the wait was worth it. I found it to be pretty average and nowhere close to my regular Blizzard choice of Chocolate Xtreme. But there is a bigger issue in this all.
Since moving to the South I have started in on an ice cream tear. If I am not enjoying ice cream at one of the many parlors in town, shoving my face with it at a baseball game, or ordering it at a national chain like Dairy Queen or Cold Stone I am pigging out on it in the comfort of my own apartment. As I mentioned before, I am a huge fan of the Breyer’s brand and I have my freezer stocked accordingly. If I am watching a Red Box (which is almost nightly) then chances are I am eating ice cream.
How do I rationalize my new habit of going from a special occasion ice cream eater to a nightly ice cream eater? I say it is hot where I live.
Now I know that might be the worst excuse ever but it is all I got. Somehow I have justified it to myself that since I am living in a hot climate I somehow must deserve ice cream 365 times a year. Terrible, erroneous logic…the type of logic that gets people fat. However, I have avoided the extra pounds…for now.
As the obsessive person that I am, I weigh myself on the same day at the same time every single week. After moving down here I mandated this weekly weigh-in to keep myself honest. Everyone told me that weight gain was a given in the food-crazed South so I have taken necessary precautions to avoid an increased waistline.
Except of course for my ice cream habit.
But so far my ice cream splurge has not caught up to me yet. I have stayed the same weight since leaving the western part of the United States in mid-April. I am crossing my fingers that my ice cream diet doesn’t catch up to me all at once and on my next weigh-in I see a ten pound gain.
However, just because I have not seen a reflection on the scale doesn’t mean I can continue to scoop myself out a bowl each evening, right? Whatever happened to self control and moderation? Maybe I need to re-evaluate and go back to the guy who rewarded himself periodically with ice cream rather than the guy who makes it part of his nightly routine. Perhaps I should drop the “It’s hot” excuse? Don’t Blink.