Saturday Night Ice Cream

There have been some strong reactions to my reconciliation with Christina, even from Chooch. Yesterday afternoon, he declared that he hated both of us and when we asked him why, his eyes welled up and he shouted, “Because you two can never stay friends! I just want you to get along!” He brought it up again later when we went to King’s for dinner (minus an ailing Henry, who we prank-called from Christina’s hotel room; he answered with his professional “Yellll-o” greeting because I guess he thought it was going to be work-related).

For the record, we had a great weekend, but I guess Chooch remembers more from the past than we thought.

We promised that we were trying hard to make it stick this time, and then threw in some ice cream for good measure.

I feel like even just going out for ice cream, 87 inside jokes are born.

“Get something chocolate-y in case I don’t like my strawberry shortcake sundae,” I ordered Christina, and she did as I said. Just like the olden days. I will never take for granted getting ice cream with my best friend ever again.

Even Sick Henry oozed out of bed for the opportunity to deep throat a twist cone.