Jessica, Michael (= engaged! yay!) and I (= not engaged. whatevs.) went to Baskin-Robins on Sunday night before Asssscat. Because we're classy. Jealous? Deal with it.*
*That is from a TV show I don't watch but I think I should.
While we waited for someone to acknowledge the ice cream counter, I took a look at the Recommended Ice-Cream-Cake Book. Here's my favorite:
What the huh?
There is no way to bend the English language so that makes sense. There is a space on top so you can fill in a name. For example:
Billy Crudup Love's Me
Some Other Guy Love's Me
but those things still do not make sense. Now, I'm not the sharpest crayon on the tree but I had two future English teachers verify the impossibility of this cake. I feel pretty secure in my correctness.
I was going to steal the postcard of the cake but I did not do that. I couldn't handle the idea that the only thing I'd ever stolen would be a picture of a romantic cake. There are too many issues caught up in that, man (see: food=love?; dying alone).