Milkshake Wars

Last night, I had a milkshake. It was the first I've had since Jesse was born, which was almost five months ago. That meant it couldn't be any ol' I-can-pick-one-up-quick-at-the-drive-thru milkshake. It had to be an Oberweis milkshake. Chocolate-chocolate chip, in fact. And it was everything I believed a milkshake could be.

I sucked up every last drop and then sat back to let it settle. It settled like a two-ton boulder at the bottom of my stomach. My plans to run on the treadmill? Destroyed. Thoughts of lifting weights in front of the TV? Not a chance. That one, innocent, yet so dee-licious milkshake ruined the rest of my evening. I've turned into an ice cream lightweight. It's like I don't even know myself any more.


(Seriously? This is what it looks like. Tell me this milkshake wouldn't bring all the boys to the yard.)