Okay, so I know I haven’t blogged in a while. That makes me uber sad because I totally thought I would sit and write more often. While work and family and work has me busy, I still find myself with a lot of boring down time with which I do nothing, until now. Today I decided to write about something. Anything at all, really … thus I give you a story about milkshakes.
About 3 weeks ago I went to Scarpelli’s in Torrington with my husband. I ate my usual cheeseburger and fries, and watched in amazement as my husband single-handedly devoured his usual … the kitchen sink dog: a foot-long hotdog smothered with heaps of chili, sauerkraut, onions, cheese, and of course, bacon, served in a massive grinder roll. Yeah. Anyway I looked over at the table next to us and saw 3 kids dining with their parents, each with a delicious-looking strawberry milkshake. Despite my fullness, and Zach’s engorgement, we bought one strawberry milkshake to-go, and enjoyed it on the way home. It was soooooo good. Maybe it was delectable because I hadn’t ordered a milkshake in years upon years, or maybe because I saw a kid with something that I wanted, and was finally old enough to spend my own money and indulge. Either way, that was the start to my milkshake kick.
The very next day, on the way home from West Hartford, I saw a Frendly’s in the distance and knew I was only moments away from more strawberry-y, milky goodness. I walked in with a giant smile on my face, and even though I had planned on getting a Fribble, I was persuaded to order a “double-thick” milkshake instead. I watched as the waitress filled up a stainless steel vessel with gigantic scoops of strawberry ice cream, a splash of milk, and then blended the shake for all of 5 seconds before serving us the to-go container and sending us out the door. By the time we got home, 40 minutes later, the drink was STILL virtually undrinkable. My goodness, words cannot tell you how disappointed I was. I had just come off of the best milkshake EVER the day before, and now this? I sucked and sucked and sucked as hard as I could, to no avail. We were basically served a giant cup of ice cream. I believe I even yelled at Zach, “If I wanted to drink ice cream, I would have bought my own half gallon and waited for it to melt!” I told Zach I was never getting a “double thick” ever again.
Day three. Yes, the next day I bought yet another milkshake. I was determined. This time I went to Friendly’s in Torrington and got the Fribble I wanted in the first place. YUCK. The Fribble is basically soft served vanilla ice cream, lots of milk, and strawberry syrup blended to oblivion. That night I remember yelling again at Zach, this time saying, “If I wanted strawberry milk, I would have bought my own gallon of milk and squeezed my own damn strawberry syrup in!!!” Was it so hard to make a decent strawberry milkshake like Scarpelli’s? Anyway, there ended my three day milkshake binge, as I could feel the calories fastening themselves to my ass.
Weeks later, I thought about milkshake #1 and whether or not it was really the best, or if the idea of it was simply better. Who doesn’t think about the movie Grease, and how all you wanted was to go into that 50’s diner, wear a pink poodle skirt and cardigan, eat a greasy burger, and drink a milkshake? Scarpelli’s is far from paradise, but in its slightest resemblance to a childhood flick, I found myself craving what those punks in the booth next to me were ungratefully slurping. My parents would have never let me order a milkshake for dinner. Ever. So instead, I waited 20 years, and drank so many milkshakes in unreasonable succession, I may never want one again. Lesson learned?
I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. Here’s to coming back soon!
Xoxo Liz
