Why does delicious creamy goodness have to hurt so much?

Today, while trying to fill up the time between the tour we took of the Longfellow home and Institute, my roommate (an awesome gal) and I decided to stop by an ice cream parlor not far from one of the stops on the T.

I went in expecting to have to watch in benign envy as said roommate consumed some delicious-looking concoction or other. However, to my joy, we discovered that the parlor had a vanilla that had no added sugar. Needless to say, the consumption of said ice cream was a divine experience. You can witness my joy for yourself here:


Alas, my joy was shortlived. For behold, as soon as my digestive tract got hold of this delectable substance (and seriously--the stuff was delicious) it began to complain, at first with mild muttered words, but soon with threats and imprecations that should never have been said in a church, let alone in the presence of a Young Lady of Good Character (i.e. me).

So I've spent the past three hours or so trying to decide whether I regretted eating said ice cream or not. I've come to the conclusion that I don't regret eating it. But I don't think I'll ever do so again.