I'll take a banana split

I have a confession.

I love vanilla ice cream. You can dress it up with sprinkles, caramel, or put it on a piece of chocolate cake. It's versatile. It's simple. And sometimes it's completely called for.

Consistent and predictable, and despite some variations, there is no doubt what "vanilla" tastes like. You get what you ask for, right?

Let me extend that confession now to a more personally revealing detail. Until very recently I was sampling some of the variations of vanilla in the dating world. I had German vanilla. I had EMT vanilla, Prof vanilla, and Put-a-beer-in-front-of-me-and-I-will-not-shut-up vanilla. I tried pensive vanilla, shallow vanilla, intellectual and meathead vanilla.

You get the picture. I wholeheartedly explored the creamier, paler offerings of my locale in an effort to simplify.

And while these vanillas had slightly different flavors, the most I could look forward to was getting to the bottom of the bowl. The experiences were not "lick the bowl clean and get my nose sticky in the process" quality, if you know what I mean.

So give me a banana split. Give me different flavors, colors, the burst of pecans and the sweet ripeness of a long piece of fruit. Banana splits are like fingerprints: no one's dish is quite like another's.