Dear Future Leslee:
Listen, I know there is probably still some small part of you that is hoping and praying that I don’t intend to write an entire post about breast-milk (or, as I like to call it, people-milk) ice cream, but that small part really should’ve died off long ago. The fact is, breast-milk ice cream is interesting. Our reactions to breast-milk ice cream are interesting. Trying to see how many times I can write “breast-milk ice cream” in a post? FREAKING INTERESTING.
My initial reaction to the idea of people-milk ice cream was, I think, a common one – I was totally disgusted. Ewwwwwww! You want me to eat what?!? Made out of…WHAT?!? However, if you spend more than thirty seconds thinking about breast-milk ice cream you will realize that it is a pretty stupid reaction. Human beings are waaaayyy better set up to eat things made out of breast-milk than we are to eat things made out of cow-milk.
I once read a really terrible diet book that made one salient, interesting point: cow-milk is designed to turn a hundred pound calf into a thousand pound cow. It was never meant to be ingested by people, and we never evolved to ingest it. (Unlike those adorable bunny rabbits, which we are TOTALLY set up to gorge on). People are lactose intolerant because shit, son, that’s not supposed to go in our bodies. It’s like eating grass, only tastier. Not that it’s going to stop me from eating all the delicious cow-juicy things that I so love, but it is an interesting point.
Now, people-milk (of which breast-milk ice cream is made) was designed to be ingested by people (admittedly infant people and not snobby well-to-do London adults, but still). I don’t know the science behind this because science is hard, but wouldn’t it be better suited for consumption by humans?
One creepy thought: the world gets it supply of milk by keeping cows pregnant their entire lives. If people-milk takes off, would women go into some kind of hormonal mega-pregnancy for years at a time and sell their breast milk at a profit? Would that be the craziest thing ever? Oh my god, Ice Cream is people! etc etc.
Part of me is also mildly concerned about where these women have been, but frankly lactating mothers in general take waaaaaaaaayyyy better care of themselves than most of the rest of us, and unless you’re buying organic, free-range chase-down-and-milk-the-cow-in-the-field-yourself $7 a litre milk, you are ingesting a whole slew of hormones and antibiotics and random crap.
So anyway, I guess in the end I really want to try breast-milk ice cream. It’s really just fat and sugar and flavouring, it’ll probably be delicious. And I doubt it will hurt me. And it really isn’t that gross, when you think about it for a while and get yourself used to it.
Besides my new-found fascination with things made from people, I’m afraid I don’t have much else to report. I am finally back on my awesome in-patient unit in the hospital, transcribing orders and arguing with doctors like a boss. “The elevators are over there! Yes I’ll page that service for you! Here are the warm blankets! Would you like a coffee!” BAM, BITCHES.
It is March, and still winter, and I’m kind of upset about it. I just want to wear cute shoes again. I want to be able to walk to the grocery store without worrying about being eaten by a polar bear. I want to put all my big, heavy coats in a garbage can and light them on fire and shed a single tear.
May you eat strange things and wear pretty dresses,