Bark. Bark.

I've got a great guy.  He's thoughtful, selfless, caring...and on and on.  Sounds wonderful right?

Let me explain why it isn't.

A couple months back, he started swinging by the local ice cream shop on his way home and picking up a scope of ice cream for Cash and me.  He doesn't do it often, only about once a month, but it's enough to create in me...

Pavlov's Dog.

He calls when he leaves work, "Hey babe, I'm on my way home.  See you soon.  Love you."

My stomach starts to grumble.

My mouth starts to water.

I smell the phantom scent of creamy goodness.

I hear his keys in the lock and...

29 days out of 30, his hands are empty.  But my brain refuses to acknowledge that the 29 ice cream free days exist.

We can't afford to eat ice cream everyday - and my waistline doesn't need it, but I can't handle the bundle of nerves I have become.  I'm feel like screaming, "WHERE'S MY FRIGGIN' ICE CREAM OLD MAN?!?!?!?" Every. Single. Day.

Why did I listen to my mother?  I shouldn't have married him.  There are plenty of jerks out there.  I couldn't pick one of them?!?  What was I thinking!?!?!