The twelfth and I caught up after work for some food and milkshakes, but mainly milkshakes. After all, the place was a milkshake shop. Basically, the dairy farms they source from are known for earthquakes. We walked in, and it was this kind of old shop feel. Not run down or anything, just from a different time and place. Not a different time-and-space place, but I mean from years ago. In this same universe. I have to qualify everything nowadays. So we walked in, and sat down in front of the bar type counter thing, and L said well I've wanted to come here before, but haven't really had the chance. Dylan's not big on this kind of food. I said well as far as junk food goes, we share a love of a balanced diet. Mainly a soda in one hand and a burger in the other. She said well what do you want? I said well anything, I don't care, I'll have what you're having. L said that's not like you, don't you want something different and new? I said I'm kind of tired, it doesn't matter. She said oh well did you want to go home then. I said oh no that's not what I meant, well actually it was, well actually when I said tired I got enough sleep last night, and also the night before last, but I'm okay now, I mean let's order something. L laughed and said okay.
The waitress slash staff slash human who makes and serves drinks came around, and asked what we would have. L said strawberry with the swiss chocolate. She turned to me, and said do you know what you want? The next thing I remember is L's elbow hitting me in the ribs, and asking me did I know what I wanted? I said well what do you recommend? I mean not that you can recommend something if you don't know me, so manybe recommend is the wrong word, and besides I don't really know what to ask for, and I'm not sure I feel like strawberry like the twelfth, um and... L said do you have anything unusual? Can you make any milkshake? She said yes, we guarantee to get your order right or your money back.
Suddenly my brain said, I DON'T THINK YOU WANT A WAGER ON THAT, LADY. You see, there was this time when I was twelve and my Mom let me have full rein of the kitchen. Not half or three quarters, but full. I don't know what she was thinking either. So I felt like chips with a large milkshake. The chips are another story, but for now, let me tell you about the milkshake. I wanted chocolate. But not plain chocolate, chocolate with a difference. To be precise, I wanted a three-quarter full-fat milkshake with one quarter almond milk (I liked the nuttiness), blended and not shaken with a scoop of chocolate ice cream, half a pecan-caramel bar, a quarter teaspoon of cocoa, and a swig of maple syrup in a tall glass (straight from the freezer, so it was cold) striped with chocolate syrup and caramel syrup alternating, half a donut on top (cinnamon-sugar, dry roasted in a frying pan for 1:30 on low) and a scoop of rum-and-raisin ice cream through which shot a straw with blue and white stripes, and on top a pretzel. The rim of the glass was dipped in molten chocolate, with a proportion of one-third white to two-thirds dark, and of course then afterwards dipped in sprinkles. I could almost taste that wonderful magiriffic milkshake slash dessert when I was again woken by a jab in the ribs.
Livi? What are you having? She says she can make anything.
Uh, yeah I think I'll just have chocolate, please. Just plain chocolate.