One of my friends always likes to tell the story of her mom on a diet. "We were at a restaurant, eating typical diner breakfast type stuff, and my mom was sitting there with her cottage cheese, making yummy noises over it and saying how delicious it was. She wasn't fooling anyone. It was cottage cheese... not a pancake."I'm not the type of person who makes yummy noises over cottage cheese. I don't jump up and down saying, "Another helping of kale? Don't mind if I do!" I'll eat your fruits and vegetables, USDA. But I'm not going to like it.
With one notable exception: FRO-YO! I can't even type FRO-YO! without conveying my excitement over the stuff. It's sweet, it's delicious, it's the bomb-dot-com. So a few weeks back when I noticed a little shop called Yogurt Planet tucked away underneath the Yuppie McTrendy Apartments in my neighborhood, I accidentally veered a little into oncoming traffic. As I moved safely back into my lane, all I could think was please, don't let this be a chain.
Not only does Yogurt Planet free me from hipster guilt, it also allows me to pay by the ounce! Pay by the ounce?! Consider the power in that, my friends! As I chose between a myriad of fro-yo flavors and beheld the topping bar, I felt invincible. This is my FRO-YO! With so many choices, it was hard not to feel a little patriotic. You enjoy that communist vanilla, rest of the world!! This is my American (i.e. strawberry mango with blackberries, raspberries, and brownies) FRO-YO! In your face, Karl Marx!
I'm probably a little over-excited about this whole adventure, given the fact I chose the no-sugar added stuff. Still, anything that causes potential car accidents and jingoistic outbursts is worthy of an entry. FRO-YO!, I salute you. With my spoon.
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