It’s Day 8 of the yoga challenge, see previous post and the one before it as I am too lazy to link.  My sense of humour is taking a vacay but my appetite is alive and well and taking charge of the situation.  You know, I thought that over the winter I had become “lactose intolerant” in my Cougar Years because I had a reaction to hot chocolate in Yorkville.  By reaction I mean I had to sprint to Holt Renfrew while my friend was trying on shoes at BCBG a block away because HR has those specially enclosed soundproofed lady stalls that those with IBS and bulimia know about.  The hot chocolate was delish and worth the disruption though and I embraced the idea of being “lactose intolerant” because it made me seem like part of an elite group like the Masons or the Avon Ladies.  But a couple of days ago, I had a hankering for some ice cream and you know me, where the appetite goes, the body will follow.   What ever happened to ice cream?  Is it just me and my cronies, or has ice cream lost some mass popularity over the years?  As a youngster I used to eat it all the time.  Sealtest Heavenly Hash was my poison.  When there was only vanilla, I would take Fry’s cocoa and mix it in.  Then along came Ben and Jerry and I never looked back.  I even visited the factory in Vermont when I was pregnant, just call me Mrs. Chunky Monkey.  I could eat the whole tub.  But over the years I began to think, I best not.  Ice cream and wine don’t really mix, so I gave one up, guess which?  Duh.  In the summer, as a cool refreshing treat, why not have a popsicle instead of ice cream?  Ask my beloved Dr.Oz that question and guess what?  Popsicles have the high fructose sugar that is the evil that made America fat!  Ice cream (maybe not a tub) is the better choice.  So off I went to The Marble Slab at Queen and Lee, a 15 minute walk from home so if anything should happen lactose explodo-wise, there  are 2 Starbucks in my path (crappy coffee, awesome IBS friendly washrooms, decent ginger cookie).  Marble Slab is a chain where they scoop the ice cream up with Popeye’s bicep strength and put it into pint size ice cream containers while you wait.  Normally this would have sent me over the edge, but all that yoga breathing and such has put some patience in me.  You dig, girl, sssscccoooop it up, plop it in and scoop some more. What’s the rush anyway?  I ordered an ice cream cone (deep chocolate) and a couple of milkshakes for the chillen.  There is an option for extra stuff like cake crumbs and crushed up Skor bars.  I find this confusing and surreal.  It’s like putting lime in beer:  grow up, take it as it is.  Anyway, it took a long time but it was interesting.  She put my dark chocolate lump on a marble slab (hence the name) and weighed it.  At almost 5 bucks a cone, I should hope so.  And off I went, eating an ice cream cone like a lady.  Lick. lick, lickity loo.  All the way down the street and home.  No spills of any kind.  I am ready for more.