Whipped Cream. And Meanderings About Whipped Cream. Deep, Deep Meanderings.

I am not a particularly large person. My legs are as long as the Hub, who is 6'4", but my legs are somewhat chicken-like, I admit. But I am definitely not large. I do not buy two seats for an aircraft, for example, although it's a dreamy thought to have the seat next to me available for my netbook and my sodas and my magazines and my blanket and my pillow and my moisturizer and my lip gloss and my hand sanitizer and my whatnot.

Note: I do not go anywhere. I do not know why my imagination about my aircraft escapades is so grand. When I do travel somewhere I am generally in my aging SUV with my dog and my air compressor and a 12-pack of Diet Pepsi Wild Cherry. And other stuff that rolls around in the back.

I imagine, then, that my lack of heft is why people roll their eyes at me when I talk about my obsession with whipped cream. People think I am joking.

Note: Do not joke about the whipped cream.

To settle the matter I present the following photographic evidence. I have more photographic evidence, but I look (even more) hideous in the other photographic evidence. This singular evidence will have to do.

Note: Heck, yes!