Pity Parties are different for everyone. And who among us hasn't had one for themselves? My personal pity parties include one common factor-- Ice Cream. If I've had a day, its ice cream for dinner. I blame this vice on my mom 100%.
During my more awkward years, say age 13-17, I would come home from school all bent out of shape on a pretty regular basis, and my mom would take me for ice cream. I would spill my teenage drama over ice cream while my mom listened and gave guidance, or we would just sit in silence while the ice cream worked its magic--transforming me from unpleasant teenager to normal human being again:)
The medicinal effect of ice cream has unfortunately persisted into my adulthood. Even though I call it a vice, if I ever have an unpleasant teenage daughter I'll handle it the same way my mom did, all over ice cream.
With Kyle away from home I justify regular pity parties. Only now, I can't eat ice cream like I once did without the physical repercussion. Don't get me wrong, I can still eat my share of ice cream. So unless Kyle wants to return home to a 500 pound wife, I best find a better outlet for these little parities because I'm on the
fast track to becoming a major whooty...and not in the smokin' Kim Kardashian way either.
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