After we left Greenman’s Tunnel on Sunday, Henry decided he needed to drive a half an hour out of the way to get soft serve with sprinkles and crunchies. He’s infatuated with crunchies.
A poster for Dole low-fat soft serve, complete with a cascading waterfall of plump-looking fruit, was pasted on the window. In a moment of insanity, I decided that a cone stuffed with this low-fat shit would be a tasty choice. I wanted raspberry, but they only had pineapple, which irritated me but I ordered it anyway. Not without a tinge of uncertainty, though.
As soon as I tasted it, I was racked with buyer’s remorse. I gave it a maximum of three sad licks, before whispering, “This is disgusting; I want yours” to Henry.
So while he dejectedly devoured a low-fat twist of melting hideousness, I got to enjoy this:
And Chooch ate his kid cone, my pawned-off pineapple puke on a cone, and my hijacked Henry cone. God, to still be a kid, getting everything I want. OH WAIT.
That shitty cone seriously had the potential to ruin my day. Luckily, I walked away from it with little more than a puckered face. I don’t even think Chooch liked it, but Henry insisted that it “wasn’t that bad” and that I was over-reacting.
Blake wanted to get a bucket of golfballs to hit, but Henry deliberately ignored him. I don’t think he was in the mood to explain that since I quit my job, I’d have to turn some tricks at a truck stop in order for Blake to drive a bucket of balls. But we all know I’d do that for free, so whatev.
Afterward, we went to PIzza Hut, where I dunked an egg morsel (WITH SALAD DRESSING) into Henry’s iced tea while he was filling up his THIRD plate at the salad bar. He looked really nervous and apprehensive when he caught Blake and me laughing evilly, but shrugged it off. It wasn’t until the egg clogged up his straw mid-sip that he realized what was going on and completely flipped his shit, making us laugh even harder. Then Blake sold me out and I was like, “Sleep in a box under a pier, buddy!”