I would be the gal in the cell next to yours. Like Paris Hilton, I had a brief moment of reprieve. It was called pregnancy. For some reason when I was pregnant, I could tolerate milk. I LIVED on milk. No calcium supplements for me. I had milk at every meal, chocolate milk for snack, ice cream every single day, and cheese on everything (hmm, maybe that explains the 70 pounds I gained!). The moment I delivered it was back to the chain gang. Not only did I suffer, but my daughter whom I nursed would suffer horribly too. It’s one thing to sentence yourself to a night with the porcelain princess, but quite another to do it with a screaming, colicky baby beside you.

So, I’ll toast you with some lactaid ice cream. Oh, and pass the charmin please!
.
.
.
It is a sickness isn’t it? A sickness that gets rubbed in my face every time the ice cream truck rolls down my street with his stupid music horn.
I’m afraid you’ll have to get your own Big Bertha (Charmin). She’s too busy protecting me from John Wayne. They fought the other day but Charmin is super absorbent and took the blows. For now I still belong to Charmin but I know John Wayne is after me in this lactose free prison. It’s a matter of time. Triple Roll will come to her end and I’ll be John Wayne’s bitch. I fear it. Oh how I fear it.
Austin