I'm stuck on you, Fudgesicle

For the past twenty years, I have been lactose intolerant as the result of a nasty tummy virus. Now, it's really not been a big deal. Do I really need the extra pounds and hardening of the arteries that come along with Alfredo sauce and ice-cream? I've never been a big ice-cream fan anyway so it wasn't a huge sacrifice.

The past few years, the intolerance has worsened which has made cooking difficult, a convenient excuse for a daily chore that I consider a form of torture. But since my children claim that they need food, I searched the grocery store and discovered the best thing since sliced 100% whole grain, omega 3 enhanced bread - Lactaid. No exaggeration - it's changed my life and the number on my scale, but that's another story. I use Lactaid milk for all cooking now and use the Lactaid chewables to drink - CHOCOLATE SHAKES. Oh chocolate shakes, I am so sorry that I lied about not missing you. It was a defense mechanism, a way to hide my pain of not being with you.

So yesterday, my kiddos and I hear the sweet jingle of the ice-cream man coming down the street. Giddy at my new-found ability to digest milk, I grab my wallet and my children are wondering who has replaced the mother that normally, they have to convince to spend her money at the curb. I am literally salivating when I see the picture of the fudgesicle. I pop open a lactaid chewable and indulge in the sweet goodness of fudge.

It tastes like childhood, it takes like victory, it gets stuck to my lips and rips skin off. I have a very irritating ice-cream truck injury the rest of the day. Why, oh why, didn't the safety clown warn me of this?