I hate ice cream for some reason. The cold sensation it gives on my throat isn’t quite exciting to me. As unpleasant as it may feel, I hate the sugar generously added to it. I feel like eating ice cream dragged me closer to diabetes, a degenerative disorder my father is struggling against and living with.
But one day, back then, a buddy treated me. He — who is known for his thrift — let me try a cone of ice cream. What a chance!
He knew I hated ice cream. Still, he bought me and made me eat it. I couldn’t get him through. I could have just thrown it away or left it melting on the table. But I wasn’t that rude or impolite so I just licked it all. I respected his generosity and if I hadn’t, I must have felt bad and sorry for myself for misbehaving.
Sometime later, he texted me saying,”I just gained several kilograms.” I screamed and then begged for the secret. He knew my body weight ‘issue’.
He confined in me. Thanks to ice cream!