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Sundae bloody sundae

The other night after dinner, we went to a local ice cream parlor for sundaes.

It was an acid trip without the drugs.

The counterperson turned around, and asked us what we wanted. I was so mesmerized by her snaggleteeth and pointy nose, I was stunned silent. I couldn’t help thinking of that horrible show, The Swan? Where they surgically morph some unsightly human specimen into something attractive? Those teeth! They needed more than a simple dentist.

Me: We’d like two medium hot fudge sundaes with vanilla ice cream.

Snaggletooth: Whfhydg dbf z nghufty lskuipoenfjf lhrfahhdgd.

Me: (only recognizing the last few sounds of this utterance) Uh, ok, I guess we’ll get larges, then.

Snaggletooth: No, (more emphatically) whfhydg dbf z nghufty lskuipoenfjf lhrfahhdgd.

Me: Hmmm. Excuse me?

Snaggletooth: We don't have soft.

Me: You mean, you have mediums then?

Snaggletooth: No, we only have hard right now.

Me: I’m confused. Hard?

Snaggletooth: We don’t have soft ice cream right now. Only hard.

I looked up and noticed that sure enough, the soft-serve machines were being cleaned.

Me: Oh, so you have regular ice cream? Ok, yeah, that’s what we want.

Snaggletooth: whipped cream and a cherry?

Me: Of course.

The combination of bad fluorescent lighting, the smell of old refrigeration, screaming kids and their louder-and-rounder-than-thou parents made us feel like aliens.

Snaggletooth: To stay or to go?

Me: (Incredulous. What the fuck do you think, kid?) To go. (Duh!)

We got home so fast, the cherries were still perched on the whipped cream and “hard” ice cream was barely melted.

1:14 p.m. - 2004-04-28



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