Pie and Ice Cream

I don't remember how the story went, but somebody settled for a Hostess Fruit Pie slightly nuked with a side of ice cream instead of a pie and ice cream at some tourist restaurant. Jesus-- I forgot.
ANYway, the point? Well, I just had a tuna melt for dinner and I'm currently contemplating desert. I have a variety of sweets at my disposal: Junior Mints, York Peppermint Patties, Cherry Slices, Peanut butter cups, --Oh, and don't forget the rest of that Hagan Daas I was waiting to treat myself to when I hit a second landmark/goal post with my smoking. Funny part of it is, I hadn't determined what the goal was that would earn me the rest of the Hagan Daas.--It's Butter Pecan. And I don't mind telling you that it's quite possibly the best damned butter pecan ice cream I've ever had the pleasure to enjoy. Maybe that's why I hesitate in finishing it off. Oh, but you only live once. And I've been smoke free for five months now. Besides, Hagan Daas will make more. It's not the last butter pecan I'll ever get my grubby little hands on.
My father's a butter pecan fan. Oh, he's an ice cream fan, period. I wonder if that's where I got my love of ice cream.

I've always been told: "You're like your father" But then, I can't imagine my mother telling me I'm like her. Jim says I'm bound to be like her in certain ways. Cuz she's my mom and she raised me. Sure, I can dig that. But I don't want to be totally like her. well-- Jim said, immitating the way I say it, and how eerily similar it is to mom.
"But at least I don't cackle like my mom," I said, searching for some comfort here.
Jim threw me an well, I don't know about that look. It made me cringe.
"Oh god, I'll never laugh again."
Jim started tickling me to get me to laugh. Who'm I kidding? Telling me not to laugh is like asking a dog not to bark. I've told him if I ever get like my mom, to smack me. Then a little while later, "You told me you loved my laugh," I start off almost plaintively.
"Did I say I didn't?"
"Well, I don't cackle do I?"
"That just bothers the shit out of you, doesn't it?" Jim asked with a chuckle.
I put my fingers to my lips with nervous self-consciousness. This makes Jim laugh even more. Either he's doing this just to mess with my head for a good joke, or these are similarities to my mother he can live with. Usually, comparing me to my mother has earned dirty looks and threats of bodily harm. But in learning not to take life too seriously.

Well--I need to get this creative engine rolling. I've got a murder-mystery short story I've been trying to figure out for the last couple days and it's going to require a change in tactics. I'm going to try writing the murder first and then working backwards. We'll see. How does Jessica Fletcher do it? She'd be having tea and cookies with Seth, the local doctor, to cope with her writer's block. *yes, I've watched many episodes.*