If hell froze over, Anna is the devil of ice cream.
I choose my words carefully, logically, devoid of emotion.
FUCK THAT BISH.
Nothing has ruined birthdays, birthday cakes, my debit card transactions, and mint chocolate chip like this demented and sad little person.
Someone lock her in the freezer and feed the key to some crazy 3pm elementary school kids overhyped for a sundae. Then, and only then, will I return.