we all scream

One of my Grandma’s favorite stories to tell about me is from this time we went to a Bob’s Big Boy for dessert. When our orders arrived, it was clear she had made the better choice, so I suggested that we share.

And by share, I meant, switch.

I was very young at the time. Maybe not even school-age. But I feel like I remember the vinyl booths. My hot fudge sundae, her brownie á la mode. Or maybe that is just the illusion of a memory, a replica built from all the times I have listened to her laugh about it.

Then again, the stories we tell ourselves become as real as anything after a while, don’t they?

This afternoon seemed like a good one to share a milkshake.

And by share, I mean share. Although, it’s true I still get the winning end of the bargain. I get to pick the flavor. Also, I take bigger drinks.

Alice is a little hazy on the concept of “all gone,” but she knows she doesn’t like it.


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