We bought a tub of vanilla ice cream with swirls of caramel and little nuggets of peanut butter and chocolate. I can't remember the brand, and it's too much of a bother to go to the freezer to check it out, but for some weird reason, the ice cream marketing department decided to call it Bunny Trail.

For dessert the other night, I pulled out two bowls and two spoons and started scooping out ice cream with my spoon for the two of us. Little did I know that Frank has a VERY IMPORTANT ice cream ritual, which involves running an ancient ice cream scooper under hot water and scooping out perfect little balls of ice cream.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING??" he exclaimed. "You're flippantly flopping ice cream everywhere!! Stop that!"

"Oh?" I giggled, "Flippantly flopping down the Bunny Trail?"


Really. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.