Yesterday was a momentous day! July 16th marked 4 years that my boyfriend and I have not murdered each other in our sleep. Also, I became a regular on Yelp at Cold Stone Creamery. Nothing says you have a problem with food like publicly becoming an ice cream shop frequent flyer.
I had to take a screenshot of this exciting new level of fatness. I have to say, it was totally my boyfriend’s fault I became a Yelp regular. He wanted to go get ice cream, I did not. OK. That’s a boldfaced lie. I wanted ice cream.
To celebrate this crowning achievement, I thought I would share my mental process when getting ice cream at Cold Stone. First, I have to explain that I’m a very anxious person by nature. I’m always “go, go, go”, and “hurry the hell up”. I hate waiting, and I despise being held up by incompetence. Most importantly, I hate having to waste my precious time on someone who can’t decide what kind of ice cream they want. Life is way too short and precious to mess around with not understanding your relationship with frozen sugared cream. Get it together, world.
Approaching the last major intersection before the shopping center that houses Cold Stone:
I mean, really. Can we drive any fucking slower? Are you trying to be the only one who gets through the damn light?! Gaaaah. Yup. I hate everyone.
*This may or may not be merely an angry thought. I may or may not be yelling the above out my window.
OK, here we go. There’s Cold Stone. Only 20 yards away. Come to Mama. Here I am.
Who are all these people taking up these parking spots? Why are there always so many people out and about? Don’t you have jobs? Go to work. Go home. Jeez. Now I have to park like a mile away.
Addressing my boyfriend:
“Shit! Look at that family of like 50 approaching the door? Hurry! Let’s run! We have to beat them! They will ALL want to try ALL of the flavors! Hurry!”
Because my boyfriend fully endorses NOT running towards your ice cream, the family beats us.
*Sending death glares to my jerk boyfriend as we wait for Mom, Dad, and their 48 children to try every fucking flavor.
Really? You want to try vanilla? Now you’re just being an ass. You’re doing it on purpose.
Why is that person staring at me? Oh, in my mad rush to get here, I forgot to put on my bra. Again?! This can’t keep happening, Katie.
Finally, it’s our turn! I’m going to be sensible and try ONE flavor, and I’ll be quick. I’ll show everyone how it’s done.
My boyfriend: “Really, Katie. Why do you insist on trying Oreo cream-filling every time when you know you’re getting Cake Batter with rainbow sprinkles?”
*Sending death glares again.
I indicate to the employee, who I know like the back of my hand, that I will, indeed, have my regular. Our ice cream is done and waiting in a paper bag, but 50-member-family is holding up the entire line trying to pay for their $500 worth of ice cream.
Great, just great. My ice cream is melting while you allow your 5 year-old to count change for you. Why do bad things happen to good people?
As my boyfriend and I walk/run to the car:
Me: “If we go out this first exit, we could bypass all of the people crossing from Marshall’s.”
Boyfriend: “Yes, but there isn’t a turn lane, we might get stuck behind someone going straight!”
Me: “You’re right. OK, here’s the game plan…”
On the drive home, I run 2 lights and almost hit a garbage can that some idiot left too far out into the street. All I can focus on is the speed at which my precious ice cream is melting.
Finally, home! Fat pants, Netflix, and a pint of ice cream so thick, I have to chew it! Heaven!