Eighteen years ago today, Bad Ass Husband and I were planning on getting married, but we couldn’t, because we were both deadly ill with food poisoning from eating ice cream at the gas station in Westcliff, CO. Zanimal made the commemorative cake, this year. I think she did a nice job. It looks like puke. And ice cream. At the same time! 
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Poisonous ice cream is a crime against the stomach. A hairy curse on that accursed gas station.