Bumblebee's Very Small Adventure
Apr. 24th, 2003 01:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beetigerAlmost every modern pregnancy book I’ve been reading says that unlike our mothers, we shouldn’t give in to every food craving. They then all say, in pretty much these words, “Even if you really think you want it, it’s really not good for the baby for you to have a hot fudge sundae every day”. Well, okay. But I hadn’t had a hot fudge sundae yet since I found out I was pregnant, and I’m sure a growing baby needs a little bit of hot fudge, right?
By the time I finished the little project that was going to take me half-an-hour last night when I got home, it was nearly ten o’clock, so the ice cream place that was still open in this sleepy excuse for a suburb was Friendly’s. Our waitcritter, Christina, was friendly indeed, with thick raven-black hair and a skip in her step and a goofy smile that I figured will probably go all goth in about a year or two. She took our order cheerfully, mine for a small sundae with butter pecan and cookie dough ice creams and, of course, hot fudge,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sythyry’s for a less-small sundae with low-fat vanilla ice cream and hot fudge. She asked us if we wanted whipped cream and cherries, which we did.
She brought me my sundae, sans cherry and with Oreo ice cream instead of cookie dough, but I didn’t fuss. Close enough. By the time I had nearly finished mine, she brought Bard’s. He tasted it, and looked dubious. "This ice cream is sour and has chunks in it." Being the good food scientist I am, I tasted it. It was lemon sherbet, with bits of peel. A big bowl of lemon sherbet with hot fudge. They don’t even have lemon sherbet on their regular menu, so I was very confused.
Christina apologized and replaced the sherbet with something that was at least vanilla, though I don’t know if it was lowfat or if all of their lowfat had been replaced by citrus imposters. At the same time, she brought the checks. Two of them, stuck together. One was ours, so we paid it. The other was timestamped a bit earlier, and I suspect she had forgotten to give it to her previous customer. Poor Christina.
We left her a nice tip.
By the time I finished the little project that was going to take me half-an-hour last night when I got home, it was nearly ten o’clock, so the ice cream place that was still open in this sleepy excuse for a suburb was Friendly’s. Our waitcritter, Christina, was friendly indeed, with thick raven-black hair and a skip in her step and a goofy smile that I figured will probably go all goth in about a year or two. She took our order cheerfully, mine for a small sundae with butter pecan and cookie dough ice creams and, of course, hot fudge,
sythyry’s for a less-small sundae with low-fat vanilla ice cream and hot fudge. She asked us if we wanted whipped cream and cherries, which we did. She brought me my sundae, sans cherry and with Oreo ice cream instead of cookie dough, but I didn’t fuss. Close enough. By the time I had nearly finished mine, she brought Bard’s. He tasted it, and looked dubious. "This ice cream is sour and has chunks in it." Being the good food scientist I am, I tasted it. It was lemon sherbet, with bits of peel. A big bowl of lemon sherbet with hot fudge. They don’t even have lemon sherbet on their regular menu, so I was very confused.
Christina apologized and replaced the sherbet with something that was at least vanilla, though I don’t know if it was lowfat or if all of their lowfat had been replaced by citrus imposters. At the same time, she brought the checks. Two of them, stuck together. One was ours, so we paid it. The other was timestamped a bit earlier, and I suspect she had forgotten to give it to her previous customer. Poor Christina.
We left her a nice tip.
