Sunday, June 2, 2013


I have this weird liking of chewing on ice cubes. But they have to be just right -- they have to have been sitting in water long enough to have melted down to a manageable size. And they have to be the right texture -- it's hard to explain. I do know that there is a particular texture to it -- it's when the ice has melted down to where the air bubbles formed inside the cube, making the surface of the ice rough. That is when optimum crunching texture has been reached.

Don't ask me why I like chewing on ice, because I have no answer. I just do. Even though it sometimes hurts and it's loud and makes my teeth reeeeeally cold, I like it.

Speaking of ice -- ice is the quickest way to revert me to age 10. Seriously, give me a cup of ice and I, without fail, will start a fight. I'm an expert at waiting for just the right moment when someone leans so that the shirt collar slides to expose a little skin, and slip. In goes an ice cube. But it doesn't stop there, no -- heavens no. Once you get the cube in there, it's time for a great big lingering hug, where you push the victim against the wall so the ice cube stays in place. Feel free to pull the shirt close against your target's hips, too, because that guarantees full meltage before they can get away.

Unfortunately, most people in this world are bigger and stronger than I am. Particularly because my victims are usually male, as this is one of the only flirting techniques I can pass off without looking really stupid. It's also a technique that is always, always reciprocated -- what guy isn't going to retaliate when a 5' 2" tall girl slides an ice cube down his shirt collar and pins him against a wall? From my experience, not a one.

I never win this game. Ever. I'm usually the one who ends up on the floor, soaking wet and begging for mercy. However, it's worth it because it's quite fun.

Ice. In my life, synonymous with immature.

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