I'm not lovin' it

I'd been yearning for a milkshake for a few years, but kept putting it off. What nut puts off a milkshake? Living in the land of gelato, milkshakes are called frappe and I didn't yearn for a frappe, I yearned for a milkshake. I came close in London, but couldn't quickly convert the pounds to euros and didn't want a million dollar milkshake. Then there was the fake Big Boy in Lido. I considered spending the six euros (three times the price of an ice cream cone) but thought a fake Big Boy might also mean a fake milkshake.

Last week after my booster shot I decided I deserved one. But I got to the drive-thru speaker, panicked, and ordered my usual Perugina Baci McFlurry. (If only they could tape the Love Note to the bottom of the McFlurry cup. For more info on Perugina Baci Love Notes, google it. If I were getting paid for the advertising I'd figure out how to attach the link.)

Yesterday I wasn't in London or Lido and I hadn't overcome any traumas like the vaccine, but between the English lessons with the 61-year old designer talking about art and architecture and the 16-year old girl talking about boys, I had an extra hour. The sun was out, the top was down (it's down even when the sun's not out) and it was time.

I went to McDonald. (It's not a typo, that's what Italians call it. When they say, "Yesterday I go to McDonald" I'm more apt to correct the pronunciation of McDonald than the incorrect verb tense.) This time there was no deciding between a McFlurry and a milkshake, I was committed at all costs. The only decision was the size. In America I always ordered a large and even though I'd already had enough at the halfway point, I kept drinking and ordered a large the next time, too.

As I approached the drive-thru speaker I practiced the pronunciation of frappe. It seemed as ridiculous to order a frappe at McDonald as it does to order a grande latte at our other favorite American chain.

Drive-thru menus were never that easy to follow and with all the combos and limited time specials it's become impossible. I madly searched for frappe, but couldn't find it. Then, in the nick of time, I found a milkshake for one euro. (It reminded me of their 6-cent cones in Russia in 2003.)  A milkshake (instead of a frappe) with no sizes and just one price? I thought it must have been the kids' menu, but the speaker squawked "Benvenuto a McDonald" (Welcome to McDonald's) and I had to order. With no sizes or prices to choose from I simply said, "A long-awaited vanilla milkshake, please." (I didn't really say the long-awaited part, but had I known the word in Italian, I would have.)

At the second window, I paid my euro, collected my tiny cup and started drinking. And even though it wasn't large like the old days, I'd still had enough at the halfway point. It wasn't because I wasn't lovin' it, but because I couldn't stand what seemed like a wooden straw (referred to as an evolved paper straw). It was like paying a euro to scratch a chalkboard.  

Several months ago, to avoid the awful wooden spoon (referred to as fibre-based wooden cutlery) that comes with McFlurries, I decided to keep a metal one in my glove compartment. Now it's time to add a plastic 'silly straw', too. Not only will I welcome the good old-fashioned taste of plastic instead of wood, but the time it takes to pass through the extra inches of straw will make the tiny milkshake last longer.

Flexibility is not my forte, but if I start with some silly twists and turns maybe before long I'll be rolling with the (eco-friendly) changes.