Whipped-Cream

Every rule needs an exception. In Paramore's song (introduced to me by a friend on the four hour drive up to a Palm Nursery in Santa Barbara) "the only exception" - the exception is Love. In my sugarless summer, the exception is whipped cream.

You'll notice that I stated "every rule NEEDS an exception" - not has or should have. Every rule NEEDS an exception (are you beginning to see a pattern in my 'law-abiding' tendencies?)

Anyway, I spent the last week in Santa Barbara working at a Palm Nursery. In the evenings, the crew would go to a coffee shop in town called "Jitters." Jitters has a lot of appealing aspects - the native Santa Barbara art work on the walls; the 'up-and-coming' artists, hopefuls, and creative types that sat quietly at the tiny tables; the large, warm-yellow mugs they used for coffee; the free-internet...

The drink list was extensive and delicious looking. Espresso and chocolate were the two most used ingredients. I stuck to my guns and didn't have anything sugary. But as they handed me my sugar-free toffee latte, I realized that I needed an exception. So I asked for whipped cream. And I got it. It was delightful.

Is my conscience trouble? No. Is my sugarfree program ruined? Not at all. In fact, I discovered as I drove back down to San Diego, listening to Paramore on my friend's ipod and licking the whipped cream off my sugarfree starbucks vivanno, that exceptions are like whipped cream: they are good for the soul. And so is Santa Barbara. I want to go back there.