The ice cream diet

I normally don't know how much I weigh. Despite the fact that we own a scale, I rarely step on it. A couple months ago, though, I felt compelled to weigh myself. And then I did it again over the weekend. And folks, something amazing had happened. Without trying (that is, without exercising, watching what I eat, actively dieting, or anything), I had lost eleven pounds. You may well ask, how I accomplished such a feat? It's certainly a question I asked myself. And the only thing I can come up with is this: I ate ice cream. In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that I'm not the world's biggest fan of ice cream. When John and I started dating, in fact, I once told him that I didn't even like ice cream. But a couple months ago, we bought a box of mini ice cream sandwiches. And then another. And, well, one thing led to another, and now it's common at the end of the day for one of us to say, "Hey, it's ice cream sandwich o'clock. You want one?" So there you go: the ice cream diet. And they said it couldn't be done.