How My Milkshake Brought All The Boys (2) To My Yard

It was a spontaneous trip. As if we could read each other’s minds, my roommate and I simultaneously expressed our craving for the delicious soft serve of the West Village joint, Big Gay Ice Cream. Like a turn of the hat, we quickly gathered our things and started on our adventure.

Big Gay Ice Cream usually has a line around the block, filled with hipsters and tourists shoulder to shoulder, cramped, under the watchful glares of The Golden Girls paintings that line the walls. When we arrived, not a single person was in line. The usual mini Hunger Games to get an open seat at a table was not needed today as there were now too many seats and tables to choose from. Our craving was a sign from the ice cream gods, blessed by the Warhol imitation of Estelle Getty’s face that welcomed us into the establishment.

Savoring the fact we could actually sit inside at a table, my roommate and I took this time to catch up on a topic we recently found ourselves discussing frequently: dating. Who have we been talking to on Tinder? OkCupid? Grindr? Bumble? He had a plethora of men at the beck and call of his phone, waiting to meet him. Me?

I had texts from my mom.

The dry spell was almost numbing, to a point I just didn’t care anymore. Men? What’s a “men”? My Google search history transitioned lately from “ Hot Date Night Outings in NYC” and “Questions to Ask on First Dates” to “Meals for One” and “Most Popular Cross Stitching Patterns for Advanced Stitchers”. I lived vicariously through his dating life.

As my roommate enjoyed his soft serve cone, covered in crushed vanilla cookies, I made the choice to steer clear of my regular chocolate with chocolate sprinkles topped with hot fudge, to enjoy a simple chocolate milkshake. Once the shake maker handed me the chocolate concoction, I felt my phone vibrate. Probably mom asking what hours I’m working tonight. I sat down next to my roommate, took a sip of the chocolatey goodness, and decided to check my phone.

Hold on. It wasn’t a text or a Facebook notification. It was a message on Tinder. And not just one message, but two!!? I reached to take another sip of my shake when it hit me – it was the milkshake. My milkshake brought two guys to my yard.

My God.

Commence the profile stalking! Hunched over the table, I furiously swiped to see what gentlemen took time out of their day to swipe right on a hottie like me. The first guy was a typical, good looking white male. I can deal with that! The other was a Nick Lachey look a like. I wasn’t a 98 Degrees girl, more N*SYNC, but hey, I wasn’t going to get picky now, I had men to woo.

We spent far too long figuring out a response to these men. One wrote the casual, “Hey, how’s your day going?” The Nick Lachey look alike wrote, “Wow, you’re beautiful”.

What do I say?! I furiously gulped my milkshake, half hoping it’d give me inspiration, the other half hoping the more I drank it, the more men would come throwing themselves at me. We finally decided to keep the responses causal, with an average, “Great how’s your day?”, and, “Haha, thank you. You’re pretty cute too”. I set my phone down, pleased with my responses and continued to sip my milkshake. As my roommate and I continued our conversations, fantasies of what may happen next filled my head. What if one of them likes Harry Potter as much as I do? What if they like Harry Potter and Disney? What if once I finish this milkshake, a whole team of gorgeous men come in and carry me out of the place, fighting for my love?!? One can dream.

Minutes, hours, days went by and I was left with silence and no more milkshakes. The boys never wrote back. I didn’t get any matches or messages for days.

Yet, I learned something from all this. Kelis was right. My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they’re like, it’s better than yours. Damn right, it’s better than yours, it came from Big Gay Ice Cream.


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