Is it unusually kinky to wear an empty ice cream bucket on your head during lovemaking?

My girlfriend thinks so.  The way I see it, it’s pretty harmless.

I took a 5-quart ice cream bucket, scrubbed it thoroughly, then cut out eye holes and painted on a pleasant-looking face.  When I put this mask on, I transform myself into a superhero: Quiescently Frozen Confection Man, fighting to rid the world of selfish lovers and improve sexual techniques everywhere.

Quiescently Frozen Confection Man is mild-mannered by day, but when he dons his superhero outfit, he becomes a suave ladies man, who’ll stop at nothing to please his woman in bed.  He vigilantly stamps out boring lovemaking wherever he finds it and lectures wrongdoers about improving their skills.

I think it might be this lecturing part that my girlfriend objects to.  Hey, I’m just trying to help her be a better sex kitten, you know?

Another problem, according to my girlfriend, is Quiescently Frozen Confection Man’s habit of peeking into people’s windows to observe their lovemaking techniques and, if necessary, burst into their bedrooms to offer advice and assistance.  My girlfriend seems to think I’m going to get arrested for this, but the fact is, QFCM’s super power (“Brain Freeze” – the ability to temporarily, but painfully, halt all cognitive processes in mere
mortals) will save him from those evil forces who would try to stop him from accomplishing his mission.

We’ve been dating for about three years now, but my girlfriend’s increasing lack of tolerance for QFCM is starting to drive a wedge between us.  How can I get her to understand that being Quiescently Frozen Confection Man is not a choice I’ve made but a responsibility that’s been thrust upon me?

In the spirit of romance,

Quiescently Frozen Confection Man
Somewhere in the Big, Dark City

Savannah Says:

I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like ice cream.  It’s positively perplexing to me that any such creature could exist.  My personal favorite is Chocolate Mousse Royale by Baskin Robbins, but in a pinch any flavor or brand will do.  Butter pecan, French vanilla, Rocky Road, Margarita Chiquita and Strawberry Daiquiri Cream (which we mix up in small batches here at the ranch) – they’re all good.

So, I would think the combination of love, sex, and ice cream would be most women’s idea of heaven.  Your girlfriend must be a real kook!

One thing I’m wondering, though, is how you manage to keep the ice cream from melting all over.  And, doesn’t it freeze your head?

I can see a couple of way of resolving your problem.  First of all, you need to open the lines of communication with your girlfriend.  Obviously, you’re not choosing ice cream flavors she likes.  Once you can get her to open up a little, talk about what she likes and doesn’t like, then you can accommodate her desires and fantasies.  It can be difficult to talk about such intimate things, but your loving persistence will pay off in the end.

Secondly, the cleanup must be a nightmare.  Be sure you’re a considerate lover in this respect.  Keep plenty of large bath towels on hand to mop up the mess – during and after.  I mean, five quarts is quite a volume.  Don’t be chauvinistic and think your girlfriend’s job is to clean up all that goo.  Laying down a drop cloth or spreading out old newspapers could be seen as a thoughtful gesture on your part.

If you have pets, you could always invite the dog up onto the bed when your girlfriend’s not looking (say, when you’re in the cuddling phase) and let him take care of cleaning up the mess.  Just be careful where he puts his nose.

On the whole, however, my advice is to dump this woman.  She sure doesn’t sou nd like much fun.  You’ll be a lot happier with someone who understands your love of ice cream.  And I do mean “love.”

Good luck, dear!

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Confused yet?  Well, I got your attention, didn’t I?  They say that once you’ve got their attention, you can easily consider them hooked for the next few minutes, or hour-and-a-half if you’re broadcasting on national television.  My inspiration this time around: Who Wants to be a Princess? from everyone’s favorite network for plot-less programming, FOX Broadcasting.  Yes, these are the same people who brought us Temptation Island, Boot Camp and countless other Survivor knockoffs.

Let us not forget one other very special show that FOX hit us with a little over a year ago entitled Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire?  Apparently the writers behind our latest Princess tale must’ve been on another planet around that time because there really isn’t any other excuse for making this mistake twice.  About the only thing missing from this episode was a hormone-driven Rick Rockwell, and boy, I’d be willing to bet that they were very careful to keep this one quiet until after the initial video was shot!  I can just hear Rick now,“Technically I’m sure I can be considered a Prince by someone…”

I would almost consider actually giving the writers credit for this one, actually, except for the fact that it basically looked like the show had been edited by a fifteen year-old copy boy.  You can tell that a lot of planning went into the script:

• Night before presentation to executive board – dig out old copy of Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire? script
• Substitute the following phrases:
  • Prince for Multi-Millionaire
  • Marriage for Blind Date
  • Sloppy Tongue-Kiss for Friendly, Platonic Handshake
• Emphasize waiver section of model contracts
• Finalize advance payments to off-shore bank account
• Take one long, last chuckle about the absolutely insane number of entries submitted for contestants in this meat parade

Normally I could think of 800,000 better and more important things to do than sit around and watch TV, but somehow my lazy gene always wins the coin toss and I find myself sitting in front of the tube for hours on end; this night would be no different.  The show began much like we have seen the Miss America pageant open in the past, with each girl showing herself off to the audience and then proceeding to give her name, home state and estimated bra size.  This is not surprisingly sometimes the most difficult part of the competition for these girls as several have been known to strike out early by answering two or more of the questions wrong.

The show pauses for a brief commercial break and soon returns to what I had hoped would be the best part of the competition – the swimsuits!  What can we say?  If a chick doesn’t look like a knockout in a bikini, is royalty really the best route for her anyways?  What Prince in his right mind would show up at the beach with anything less than a Perfect 10???

I regretfully report, however, that what I saw that moment was enough to make a man cry like a woman whose mare has cut the ribbon to red town: these girls were not, pardon my French, pretty!  They were, in fact, the direct opposite of those who should be competing for the prize in any beauty pageant.  It was a disgrace to all those who have ever uttered the phrase, “Maybe it’s Maybeline…”  and actually meant it.  I’d be willing to bet that Marilyn Monroe just rolled over in her grave…

I think the implication of the contest was just too confusing for these girls to comprehend.  When the creators of this program specified Princess, they weren’t actually talking about our modern day Princesses, who recline on sofas all day in their castles over in Europe while their slaves pick the lint from between their toes.  They meant the classic storybook Princess, who is very quiet and reserved and generally looks hot, or at least as hot as Disney’s artists are able to animate them.  See what communication problems can lead to???

They actually lead directly to the question and answer portion of our competition, which always seems to peak my attention after my expectations have been driven into the ground by the first half of the show.  Not that a fashion model isn’t generally an astute public speaker simply due to the fact that she’s a woman, but let’s face it – most of these ladies have the vocabulary of a kindergartener whose mother chain-smoked crack cocaine during the delivery.  This evening’s program was particularly interesting because one of the questions presented asked each of the girls to describe their experience in the pageant and what they had to offer to the Prince if selected.  The speeches took nearly an hour to listen to, but luckily I can sum them all up in three short sentences with lots of small words: “This pageant was the most amazing experience I have ever had in my entire life.  I look forward to spending a long, smiley date with the Prince, during which I would like to learn more about his culture, his family, and his money.  Please reconsider my breasts as you cast your votes.”

I remember a day when beauty pageants were worth watching, both for the amazing talents asserted by America’s fine young women and for the insightful ponderings carefully portrayed during the interviews.  Ok, so the swimsuit portion of the night might have had something to do with it, too, but back then, the hosts chose only the hottest and most-endowed ladies to permit on stage, requiring that the ‘other candidates’ wait near the buffet table for their time to appear on stage.  Besides, channel 99 was always scrambled and the best we were ever able to get were some faint outlines and what sounded like a 60-year-old woman exercising, so it was the best we had at the time!  MTV’s Spring Break beach house specials wouldn’t be born for several more years, so we enjoyed what was available and we loved it!

Nevertheless I’m always a glutton for punishment and ended up sitting through the whole thing, although I did get up to find the Sears catalog so I’d have something decent to ogle at one point!  The Prince turned out to be some pasty-faced rich boy from Europe who apparently didn’t realize that the friendshipwhich he actually desired, as indicated by his royal staff, could be obtained much easier and cheaper by means of a quick run down Sunset Blvd.  Oh well, as long as that girl’s dream of dating a real Prince came true, there’s still a happy ending!

Don’t worry about me: I just got the Sears Christmas catalog in the mail today and if I stand on my head and squint really hard, I can almost make out a breast on channel 99.  Or is that an orange with a nipple?  Either way, it should prove to be another interesting day!  I’ll be just fine…

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