It’s a simple fact that doctors delight in telling their patients that they have to eliminate certain things from their lives. As a twenty-something, there was hardly a day that went by that I did not have a huge portion of bacon and eggs for breakfast (along with grapefruit juice) and a big horkin’ bowl of Blue Bell ice cream in the evening. Eventually, the genes and this exceptional diet caught up with me. The docs brought me down to just a couple of eggs per month, one bowl of ice cream a month, and no grapefruit of any kind. Bunch of turd blossoms… It’s been a couple of decades since this radicalism infected my life. I have around a half dozen eggs a month, probably indulge in a bit more bacon than I should, and have a stash of ice cream in one of the freezers in the garage for craving containment. Still no grapefruit (supposedly a no no with Lipitor).

Today I am going to the center of the known ice cream universe: Brenham, Texas. My oldest daughter is going to drive me there (kids have a school holiday today). We are going to tour the ice cream factory and wallow in butterfat goodness. And then reality just may be allowed to slowly creep back in.