Vanilla Milkshake. Yummy.
Who hasn't been tempted? Raise your hand if you are not guilty. No hands. Yep, I thought so. We all have seen that vanilla drizzle milkshake walked in front of our eyes, dressed in black, dripping sugar from his fingertips. He smiles and you pretend not to look, you keep your hands to yourself.
We all had those moments, but we know better. We all had ice cream before, we know it melts. Keeping it frozen and creamy forever is "hard" (ok, no pun intended there).
But the thing is we are all deliciously drippy multi flavor milkshakes out there. That's the thing. We are somebody else piece of cake. The one they can’t have, of course. At home, we are not remotely that, not anymore. At home, we are inside those adorable wrapping papers that hold in all the yumminess, all our creamy tantalizing flavors. We have put away for a special day or occasion and only serve in bed.
And I ask this question at my almost 40 because I never did before. Are we really interested on those tall, adorable milk shakes with chiseled jaws and mesmerizing necks? (Here I go again, bear with me here) Or are we merely missing on being among them? Meaning, do we want to walk with a cherry on top everywhere we go? Do we miss the taste of caramel or are we simply trying to remember if we still like caramel at all?
Some, like to try the milkshake. Others try to look for it back at home. Me? I want to openly bathe in my own vanilla. Add cookies and crème let them smile at me while I walk away. At almost 40 I shouldn't wait to be unwrapped, I am a sinful piece of cake while only the ones that understand my flavor can eat it, I enjoy how the others point the fingers at my display glass, wanting to take a bite.