Sometimes I like to resist being controlled by advertising and pretend that I am a singular being with unpredictable preferences. And then other times it’s just like PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHAT TO DO. Case in point, there is an ice cream place in my hood, Jeni’s, that Morrison and I like to patron, with our faces. It is one hundred percent ridiculous, sometimes featuring ice creams with sun-burst vanilla corn kernels, and 200 percent delicious. Her ice cream is akin to swimming through a sweet and delicate stream with your mouth, if that were a thing. After a few visits, I signed up for her email list, that’s a thing I really did, and now, every few weeks, I get a message declaring her new flavor (above: honey milk chocolate with smoked almonds) and I’m like Jeni, thanks for the heads up, girl. I’ll be there in five minutes. THANK YOU FOR GUIDING MY CHOICES AND MY STEPS.

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