Could you eat that face?  Gladly!  Via kidrobot
As I type this, with a mysterious rash erupting on my leg, half the skin scraped off my ankle and a broken nail, it occurs to me that perhaps the life that my body would like me to live is the one where I eat ice cream sandwiches all summer long.

Do you remember when the ice cream cart would come around in elementary school and you could  have your pick of different frozen treats for 35 cents?  Creamsicles, fudgsicles, push pops, vanilla mini-cups (no one ever bought those), rainbow popsicles and the mother-of-all-treats THE ICE CREAM SANDWICH.  Little Rooth never got to buy those ice cream sandwiches because ice cream after lunch was unhealthy and frowned upon by my mom.  I used to sneak glances out from behind my book (yes, I read during lunch.  Is that a surprise to anyone?  Didn't think so.) at my lucky classmates who would either a) devour their ice cream sandwiches in as few bites as possible, which looked painful and left a smear of either the ice cream or 'bread' part on their faces or b) savor every last morsel and crumb to the point where ice cream would be slowly dripping from their sticky fingers.  When I dreamt about food at night, it would be of ice cream sandwiches.

Now that I'm a grown up and have multitudes of 35 cents AND can do what I want, I may just go buy a box of ice cream sandwiches.  See, body of mine, I do listen to some things you say.  If you're nice, I might even share.