Me and the Dairy Queen have a love/hate relationship. All summer long I love it, and the rest of the year I take its name. Let’s just say my skinny jeans and the Peanut Buster Parfait are like Patty Duke and her cousin. They’re never seen in the same room at the same time.
In the spring when the DQ opens, I start off with the Peanut Buster Parfait right out of the gate because, you know, I missed that delightful mix of vanilla soft serve, hot fudge sauce, and peanuts. It’s a sweet and salty taste sensation, and I enjoy every bite.
Then I scale it back. When Charlie and me ride over to the Dairy Queen for a treat after supper, I get a kiddy size vanilla soft serve in a dish. The only exception to this rule is if I’m having an ice cream as a meal substitute, then I get the Peanut Buster Parfait because it has peanuts and peanuts are a good source of protein.
As the summer progresses, though, I slowly lose my after dinner resolve. I start ordering the small dish of soft serve. Then I move on to the hot fudge sundae. By the end of August, oh mister man, it’s Peanut Buster Parfaits two, three times a week! But hey, that’s just how I roll and I’m too old to change. In fact, I really don’t want to.
So Charlie and me were at the DQ on Friday night. I was gearing up to order my kiddy size. There are only a couple of folks at each window when we arrive, so we get in line. That’s the hardest part for me, the waiting. Looking at all those colorful posters of Blizzards, Banana Splits, Dilly Bars, and my Buster. Trying to stay strong. It had been a stressful day at work, and I was vulnerable to temptation. The less time spent at the Dairy Queen the better, and it was taking forever to work our way up to the window. The line just wasn’t moving. What is going on, I’m thinking?
Then I realized, yes, there’s only a couple of people ahead of us, but they’re ordering for the army of folks who
can’t even bother to get out of their car to order their own ice cream. Whole families, sitting in their SUV, mini van, monster truck, gazing at their cell phones, carrying on conversations with the person in line. When the guy in front of me ordered a doggie cup, I looked, and sure enough, even the dog didn’t get out of the car.
Come on people! Where is your guilt? If you’re going to eat those fattening treats, the least you can do is earn it. Get up off your butt and order it yourself. Okay, if you’re old or infirm, fine, but where are your handy capped stickers? There aren’t any. Just people yelling back and forth to the designated orderer like we want to know their business.
By the time we finally got up to the window, I have to admit, I ended up getting a small vanilla soft serve. You know, purely for medicinal reasons because I was feeling a little put out.
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: Ice Cream Rules