There is a quickening. It feels fast. My heart races, and the thoughts swirl. I cannot pinpoint where it comes from. I just know it is urgent. I need to act right away.

It is Friday night and the accumulation of a week’s worth of stress feels heavy. Traffic, a last minute meeting, the parent who flipped me off in the carpool line, a note from my son’s teacher, and the back-handed comment from my mother. Now I have a moment to myself, and I need some relief.

The urge comes on suddenly, and I know what it demands.

A bowl of ice cream. There is a $10 jar of Belgian chocolate hot fudge in the fridge. The good stuff I splurged on last week at the store. I know where the pint of sea salt caramel Talenti is stashed, too. Same place I left it a few days ago. In the back of the freezer door under the bag of peas. Where my husband would not find it.

The question is no longer if I should have it, it is how fast can I get to it? It feels like a necessity, and nothing will stand in the way between me and that first bite.

Seconds later the microwave beeps and I spoon the dark molten sauce like lava over the mound of cold ice cream. The scoops soften under the warmth of the chocolate blanket and begin to melt. Perfect. I do not waste time carrying my bowl to the table. I simply stand at the counter and dip in my spoon. Heaven.