The Great Frapp Debacle

This evening, when I woke up from my afternoon nap, I wanted two things: 1) to get out of the house, 2) ice cream. Luckily, I didn’t have any ice cream in my house, so those things went hand in hand.

The sunset was so beautiful that I took a quick drive to start with, then headed down to Starbucks on Nolensville Road to take advantage of the last few dollars on a gift card. This is where I ran into a true 21st Century suburban SNAFU.

My grande java chip frappacino w/ no whip had whip. Not a huge deal, I know. And before you say “Oh, come on; there aren’t enough calories to worry about” that’s not the deal at all. I don’t like the taste of whipped cream. Never have. But I digress; back to the story – It was a quarter til 9:00, they were clearly closing at 9:00 and I wasn’t about to hand it back. I did what any good non-whip appreciating customer would do; I pulled into the Kroger parking lot to do a quick skim into the shrubbery.

In the following five minutes, I got a sense of what having small children in my car will be like. I snap off the domed top of the drink, straw in hand to act as my knife, and frappacino goes everywhere. It’s on the dash, all over my pants, on my hands, in the cupholder…sigh. Left hand: drink out the window, whip now enhancing the landscape, thin trickles of chocolate goo running over my knuckles and onto the concrete. Right hand: stretching into the glove compartment for napkins, sopping up puddles of java frapp from my legs and car seat. Cheap McDonald’s napkins leaving that fun white dust streaked across my black pants. A couple of minutes later, all that’s left is a half-melted drink and sticky knuckles. The plan had been to continue the night drive, but I could. not. get. past. those. sticky. knuckles.

Cut to me driving back home, slurping down the frapp as quick as possible to try to get past the watery chocolate to the icy goodness, unable to focus on anything but lines from Zoolander and STICKY KNUCKLES.

Now I’m home, washed up and clothes changed. With any luck, tomorrow my car will smell like chocolate and coffee and not like sour milk and cream. Fingers crossed. All I can think is, my favorite barista* Josh from It’s a Grind would never have added the whip.

*Or, as my dad thinks, “batista”

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