Insufferable Intolerance

I am a rather easy going and accepting person.  Having lived and traveled throughout Asia, Europe, and North America, I have met many peoples, seen many places, and learned to appreciate many that are different from me.  There isn't much that I am intolerant of these days, except apparently, lactose.  I started having my doubts about lactose a few summers ago, whilst working at BP, but later found out that those stomach upsets were mainly because I was always full before I ate my ice cream.  This year, however, it's been different.  And persistent.  And though I am not as racked by pain and upsets as many who are lactose intolerant are, I believe that I am in the beginning stages of intolerance.  I can't finish those cafe shakes I love and I can't even finish a small now without feeling sick.  All of this is rather heartbreaking because I love ice cream.  I do not say that as one would about a shirt or a color.  I.  Love.  Ice cream.  There is always ice cream in our freezer no matter the season and when you ask me what my favorite ice cream flavor is, I will tell you that you cannot choose a favorite child.  If pushed, I will break it down for you for my favorite Ben and Jerry's, Haggen Daz, and Kimball's flavors (representing the zenith in inventive flavors, classics, and local farmstands), as well as plain flavors when those three are not available.  Do not even ask me about toppings and sundaes, because that's a whole other eating strategy and vanilla bean is always the best for that.  What all this rambling is trying to express is that I heart ice cream, and my gradual lactose intolerance is hurting me on so many different levels, especially now, when there is such social pressure to partake of ice cream.  It's how I bond with co-workers.  It's how W-ford kids and I get together.  Just today, in search of an air-conditioned store (apparently unheard of in Central Square except for one dry cleaning place that looked very inviting- Jared, however, refused to sacrifice his shirt for the group's wellbeing), I spent $3.40 on ice cream that I was neither hungry for nor enjoyed much.  And there wasn't even AC.  If I could have one thing for Christmas, it'd be peace on earth.  But if I could have two things, it'd be the ability to process ice cream.  And, if Santa's feeling generous, maybe I could get a better tolerance for alcohol and some aldehyde dehydrogenase, too.  That'd rock.