She was fine the way vanilla ice-cream is fine. I have always liked chocolate myself. But, if you find that they're all out of chocolate, and the man behind the counter offers you vanilla, well, you just go ahead and eat it. And eat it I did.
That's the funny thing about vanilla ice-cream. It may not be all fancy like Cinnamon-Swirl or Butterscotch Crunch, but if you eat enough of it you soon begin to develop a taste for it. You start to crave the deceptive simplicity; the simple deception.
Walking down the street you may, by chance, be offered a free sample of something delectable and obscenely expensive. Frantically grasping at the few coins jingling loose in your pocket, you know you cannot afford it, but the taste claws at your mind and you become fixated. Face pressed against the store window, wide-eyed and staring longingly at large tubs overflowing while well-to-do customers in the latest fashion purchase huge containers of the stuff, you no longer notice the cone in your hand dripping perfectly good vanilla ice-cream onto the pavement, the drops forming a creamy pool, deflated and evaporating in the midday heat.
"Stop your whining and finish your Goddamn dessert!".
