I begged my friend to split the ice cream sandwich with me.

Begged is a strong word.

 Asked.

Three times.

I told him I’d bought two and hadn’t slept well the night before because I’d eaten a whole one (a whole ice cream sandwich in case you’ve already forgotten what this post is about) an hour before bed and my blood sugar first spiked and then plummeted and the ride made sleep feel like a thing other people did. 

“Why don’t you eat half?” he said.

I looked at him like he was insane. Half of a dessert? What? Did he go to some Navy Seals Camp for Eaters because in my world, I wasn’t taught that skill.

I went to the school of Dessert 101: Go big or go home. Eat or die. 

He went home and left me with an entire ice cream sandwich still in my possession. 

So I guess I have to tell you something about this sandwich. It’s extraordinary. It’s two chocolate chip cookies that, while frozen, taste not completely baked, in the very best frozen, gooey way you might imagine. I’m not a fan of vanilla ice cream, but in this case it works for me because the ice cream layer gives me more time to experience the cookies. It’s harder to jam two cookies in your mouth when there is a generous layer of creamy and sweet between them. Eating an ice cream sandwich like this is an experience, something you sit down for or something you moan about while still standing. 

You get the idea.

Anyway. I decided to have just half last night. I opened the package and got a knife so I could evenly cut two pieces. One looked like it had more chunky chips in it, so I decided to eat that half. I bit off the chunkies and then took another bite and then looked at the half I had not chosen. Now that I had bitten off the chunkies, the other half looked more appealing. I took it out of the package and replaced it with the now damaged other half.

I ate the second half but counted it as the first half since I officially had not eaten the whole thing. It was still, sort of, a half.

 I went to bed and did not sleep well.

I had pizza for dinner tonight and threw my second slice back in the box half eaten (I detect a theme) when I remembered about the half of the cookie I had not eaten.

It looked so…chewed on. 

But it tasted delicious. 

This story has no moral or point. It’s just a story about what I did with my ice cream sandwich. I’m not in grade school anymore, so I can write whatever I please.

 And thank you.