A pint-size disappointment

Tweet about this on TwitterShare on FacebookShare on Reddit

Dear Ben & Jerry’s,

Let’s close our eyes for a moment, shall we? And for the more literal-minded, let’s close one eye so you can keep reading. I’d like to take you back to the moment you found out Santa wasn’t real. Or if reindeer aren’t your thing, then perhaps the moment you learned your dog didn’t really go to that farm. I write to you with similar feelings — nay, feelings which greatly surpass these dream-crushing moments of childhood. Let’s start at the beginning: Sunday.

After a long weekend of paper writing, studying and — let’s not kid ourselves — some hardcore procrastinating, I sat down on my couch with a new pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ready to scoop to my heart’s content while watching SNL reruns and simultaneously googling: Is it okay if your garbage can has grown a small mould colony? I had saved this pint for three long days. It was so glorious and holy, I held it to the light like Rafiki clutching Simba, or like some other arbitrary animal pair who could only be friends in the world of Disney.

Long had I yearned for the moment I finished my essay and could finally dig my spoon into the glistening vanilla to scoop out the soft, mushy bits of cookie dough, marveling at their gooey wonder. BUT SOFT! What light through yonder window brea — Sorry. BUT ALAS! When what to my wondering eyes did appear? The cookie dough had become as dry as sawdust, as crackly and flaky as peeling skin after a sunburn. This is not the Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough I dream about at night. This is not the taste that brings me back to warm Vermont spring days where I spent my high-school years eating ice cream and milking cows.

How much does ice cream mean to me, you may ask? Fact: I worked harder on this letter than I did on my research paper. Fact: “bears eat beets.” And fact: I care about ice cream the way Leslie Knope cares about whipped cream and waffles. So I beseech you, what is the moral thing to do? Do I — dare I say it — feed the ice cream carton into the mouldy abyss that has taken over my trash? Do I give it to my hungry roommates? To the stray cat next door? Do I spend all my textbook money and buy out the store’s Ben & Jerry’s supply in order to find that gooey, perfect dough? Or do I just adopt the neighbourhood cat already, eat the whole pint and forget about the dough of my dreams? And also, when are tax returns due? And what are tax returns? And how important is flossing REALLY? I mean, do you think Obama flosses? And will my Beanie Babies ever be worth anything if I bent their tags? And is that dress SERIOUSLY blue and black?

But most importantly: Is this what it’s like to be an adult? Dry nuggets of withered disappointment? If so, I resign from my impending adulthood.

I have so many questions, Benjamin. Please, Jerald, all I want are some answers. And ice cream. Send help.

Thank you.

Sincerely,
Ellery R. Lamm: A hungry and disappointed student

Tweet about this on TwitterShare on FacebookShare on Reddit