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Sprinkly Correctness

by Ben Timberlake

Pete is telling me to love it or leave it. It’s come to this again: I criticize Sprinkle’s Ice Cream Shoppe for having too many chips in the Mint Chocolate Chip and Pete’s gotten all defensive like he ever knew about this place before I brought him here.

Pete’s kind of fanatic about Sprinkle’s. He’s wearing a Sprinkle’s t-shirt, bandana, and his car outside has a “Follow me to Sprinkle’s” bumper sticker on both sides of the rear fender. I suspect that he’s wearing his Sprinkle’s boxer shorts.

“Look man,” I tell him. “You know I love this place. I practically grew up here. I may have moved on from Bubble Gum Crunch and Cookie Dough Explosion, but I still consider this a second home.”

“You’re one of those frozen yogurt types now, though,” he counters.

This is true. I usually select the FroYo at Sprinkle’s in lieu of the more traditional and colorful ice cream flavors.

“But I still think the Yogurt here is better than anywhere else,” I say. “And the balance of power in Mint Chocolate Chip between chocolate chip and mint ice cream is a legitimate concern for anyone who respects the flavor and the store.

“I’m not even saying you have to agree, but I like my Ice Cream a certain way and if I criticize, it’s only because I want to make it better.”

“This is your ice cream store, though,” Pete says. “It’s the one you always go to, so you have to like all the flavors they put out.”

I hesitate even to argue this comment, which I internally label “Pete logic.”

“Sprinkle’s is the best store in the city,” I say. “But I have tried the Mint Chip at Sparkle’s Frozen Confections, and it’s pretty good — better balance.”

This is too much for Pete. He stands up and points at me.

“You don’t deserve to eat Sprinkle’s ice cream OR frozen yogurt if you’re going to other stores,” he accuses.

As Pete’s now inaccurate bumper stickers screech away from Sprinkle’s, I can tell people are staring at me. Pete’s unfinished Chocolate Death drips down from the top of my head where he left it.

I stick my tongue out and catch a drop. “Too bitter,” I think.