Exhibit "I"

In the event any of you were wondering if my unhealthy relationship with food was a farce...I give you Exhibit "I"...for ice cream. In the past, I've stated this disorder began at birth. However, I sensed doubters amongst us...so I felt it necessary to provide you with a visual aide...I give you a softball celebration.... circa 1980 something. The Panthers won the division title and were tricked into partying with the devil... aka ice cream. You may be wondering...which one of these little rats is the SIF? A true SIF could spot me a mile away...thank you very much. You'll note how others are randomly chatting happily with appropriately sized ice cream cones...and then there's me..suckin down an entire banana split looking irritated by the photo op. Truth be told...I've always been bitter that the cost accounting God who created the pricing index for the nectar aptly called "Banana Split"... didn't give more weight to the cherry. I prefer 3-4 as opposed to the 1-2 provided. Perhaps why I am slightly fruit aggressive to this day, can't be sure. Or maybe I knew that I was to marry and be miserable for the rest of my life. One can only speculate this far back. One thing is for sure, I played a mean right field. Granted, they usually stick the fatties far enough out field to make them appears thinner, but I worked that job. I knew one thing for sure...the more balls I grabbed, the bigger the reward. It's a shame adult life had to ruin that. In any event, I caught alot of balls and ate alot of ice cream. As much as I wanted to be the pitcher or the catcher...I was banned to the outfield. Cast out like the fatty I am. That's fine. Nothing can break my spirit. I still eat banana splits and bitch about the lack of cherries, I still hate pictures when I'm eating and to this day no good has come of my efforts to ball snatch. What's a girl to do alone in right field with all those balls and no game....eat I suspect. Your honor, I rest my case.