I must say, like the first day of middle school, the last day of high school, and every day-after-Christmas of my life, my first taste of Mister Softee left much to be desired.
Here I am, dreaming about my first encounter with Mr. S for the entirety of my existence in New York, hearing countless tales of delicious experiences from friends and acquaintances alike, all building up to my first big date with destiny in a plastic cup... And what happens? Utter disappointment.
Picture it, Washington Heights, 2008, a chubby pregnant woman waddles up to the Mister Softee truck, waiting with crumpled bills in hand for her turn at the exhaust fume-filled window, stumbling over the words: chocolate nut sundae, she receives her prize and stares transfixed at the beauty of it. She's looking at that sundae like Mariah Carey looks at hot dogs. All outside noise and distractions are instantly muted. A shiver runs up her spine as she engineers her first bite.
You can actually hear the heartbreak as she shovels spoonful after spoonful of the sweet mixture into her cavernous mouth. No. No! It cannot be. Et tu Brute? Senor Softee, why have you forsaken me?
Not only am I wasting calories on this sub-par performance of a chocolate nut sundae, I can't stop eating it. And now I can't have another dessert of any kind until tomorrow! You little ice cream cone head b*stard. I'll get you for this. And your little dog too.
Note to the people of New York: he's not worth it. Dry your tears and save your calories for someone else. There will be another Gentleman o' Dessert somewhere that will steal your heart the right way. With flavorfulness, and real cream and crunchy nuts and lots and lots of cherries. With respect, people.