So I don't scream for ice cream.
Just add it to the list with shorts and tennis shoes. It doesn't do much for me.
Last night at one of those marble slab ice cream shops, I had the following interaction with the kid behind the counter:
kid: How are you you?
me: Mildly bewildered by the available choices. How are you?
kid: Just realizing how many choices we have, and that it can be bewildering.
me: I'll have a kid's strawberry, a kid's raspberry, and a medium Peanut Butter Razzle-Dazzler.
kid: Anything for you?
me: Yeah. I'm not big on ice cream.
other kid: THAT'S KIND OF BLASPHEMY AROUND HERE.
me: I didn't ask to be mostly lactose intolerant.
kid: You can get sorbet.
me: I don't believe in adulterated fruit.
me: Still made with milk.
kid: You're hard to please.
me: No, I just had two margaritas. I'm really easy to please. I just don't like ice cream.
kid: Brownie? Cookie? Key lime square?
me: No thanks. But that green thing looks pretty good. What is that?
kid: That's mint chocolate chip ice cream being mixed with Oreos and chocolate chips and sprinkles. It's pretty much like toothpaste with crunchy stuff.
me: You had me, and then you lost me.
kid: Here's all your other ice cream. That'll be $13.
me: I'm like the sugar daddy. Or a drug dealer.
kid: (stares blankly)
me: Or just a nice mom.
kid: Have a nice, milk-free day.