Photo from On Second Scoop
Well, it turns out that everyone had gorged themselves on salads, rolls, cakes, and cupcakes, so only three sandwiches were eaten. Three out of twenty-four. And I ate one of them.
That means that for the last eight days I've been eating lots of ice cream sandwiches. A couple days ago I ate so many that my reflux started up again. Knowing that I wasn't dying of a heart attack, I chose to keep eating. It was definitely worth all the tightness in my chest.
I'm generally a compulsive eater, particularly with sweets, with no one to blame but myself. This time, however, I'm blaming Cheri. If she hadn't chosen to adopt a girl (because I'm positive she wouldn't have done a boy's room in brown and pink), then I wouldn't have been forced to compulsively eat all the Neapolitan ice cream sandwiches that have been in my freezer.