April 15, 2012: The Not-So-Real Poop

While I type these words, my husband is across the street getting us some frozen yogurt to eat while I watch what has to be my dozenth Titanic-themed “educational special” of the weekend.

And when I say “across the street,” I mean that almost literally, because what amounts to a colossal food court has opened up about a hundred yards from our house in downtown Phoenix. There used to be a really nice antique mall there; we bought our formal dining suite there, as well as the dresser in our bedroom and the armoire in our guest room. Now there’s a sushi place and a hamburger stand and a Chipotle. And a frozen yogurt shop.

Anyway. Last night, when we were there (go ahead and judge me for eating frozen yogurt every night—but first try living spitting distance from Zoyo’s, which has a condiment kiosk the size of a coffin, and not running over there every couple of hours), I noticed something slightly disturbing: When the yogurt comes out of the shiny metal spigot, it looks kind of like a bowel evacuation.

Tevye just came home. I have to go downstairs and see what flavor he brought me. I sort of hope it isn’t chocolate.

Thing I Hate Today: The word “dude.”

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2 Responses

  1. Thanks for the disturbing image you just put into my head. I am burning my Zoyo Yogurt card right this minute.

  2. Becky Hawkins…

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