All the Small Things
The great thing about tonight, though, wasn't the Donald. (Imagine that.) The Boyf is lactose intolerant and has to take pills with any dairy, while my love for ice cream is pretty much unequaled.* I half-mentioned to the Boyf that I might want some ice cream, and after I tore myself away from the first episode of "The Apprentice," I went into his kitchen to find him slicing bananas over two bowls, each with a small mountain vanilla ice cream, complete with rivers of hot fudge. In my years-old relationship, there was something extraordinarily nurturing about seeing him prepare the devil's candy for me, just because he knew I liked it. And that was a sinful turn-on.
*(Special Hint for New Yorkers (and Bostonians): Emack and Bolio's has the best ice cream in the city. Oh, and never, ever fall victim to Tasti-D-Lite. That's just ice cream blasphemy.)