Nobody likes a party pooper

This week has been more festive than most at my workplace.

On Tuesday, we threw a surprise party for somebody who is moving on after 29 years, and on Wednesday, there were two birthdays to celebrate in my department. A huge cake was served at the first gathering, and Tootsie Rolls and peanut butter cups were scattered around the room. For the birthdays, a smaller cake topped with strawberries was shared by about eight of my co-workers.

I could only lean against the wall at both parties and watch everyone else eat. Maybe I'll enjoy cake, Tootsie Rolls and peanut butter again –if I ever get rid of my G-tube and regain the ability to eat through my mouth– but all I can do for now is watch other people happily stuff their faces.

Today our HR department is hosting an ice-cream social to celebrate the holiday weekend. Everyone voted on the flavors to serve, and the winners were strawberry, cookies 'n' cream and chocolate.

But I'm not going to be a teetotaler for a third day in the row. I'm going to get in line with everyone else at today's ice cream social and when it's my turn to be served I'm going to take a scoop of each flavor and carefully wrap 'em in tin foil.

When I get home, I'm going to put the three wrapped scoops of ice cream in my freezer.

You can't blame a guy for wanting to have his cake -and ice cream- and eat it, too. What difference does it make if it sits in my fridge till I'm able to get it down my throat?