Not Me Monday: Not a Siren

A siren's song did not echo through my kitchen this week.

And by siren, I don't mean the ear-piercing, hurry-up-and-get-out-of-the-house type. Oh no, I would have preferred that siren.

This siren was the mythological type. The sort that lures people off course and destroys their ability to think straight.

I could hear it from the freezer, beckoning me with its sweet, soothing song.

"Dawn… Dawn… I'm here. Come to me."

I did not cave.

I did not race to the freezer and embrace my tempter, deciding just a little bit would okay.

I did not place the carton of luscious sweet butter cream on the counter and in a half-dazed trance jab my spoon into the frozen delight.

Ice cream never tempts me... NEVER!

In my delirium, I did not loose control of my hand and catapult the scoop of ice cream over the counter…

Oh, no... Not Me!

And into one of Orville's galoshes.

I did not do this. I am far too self-controlled.

The sight of the frosty, snow white goodness inside a dirty, smelly rubber boot did not snap me out of my trance.

I did not reprimand myself with the words, "that's what you get for fudging on your diet."

I did not shove the carton to the back of the freezer and quickly wash away the evidence of my transgression.

But only after taking pictures for my blog, of course.