Ice Cream WTF

My husband is off work every other Friday-Sunday, which is pretty awesome. One Friday night when he was off, I got a craving for some ice cream. I’m not a huge ice cream fan (and in my 1st trimester during my pregnancy with Nellie, the smell of it made me want to vomit) so this was rare for me. But there it was; a big, fat ice cream craving. I had to have it. I wanted it so badly that if I didn’t get it, someone was going to get hurt.

So after dinner we headed to a local ice cream place called Bruster’s. Bruster’s is delicious and amazing, and home of one of the most gigantic brownie sundaes on the face of the planet. Seriously, it’s a massive mountain of ice cream and fudge. But I didn’t want a brownie sundae. What I wanted was very simple, and one of my favorite ice cream treats to have ever since I was a kid:

One scoop of vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.

I am a rainbow sprinkle fiend. It makes no sense, because all rainbow sprinkles are, are little pellets of sugar and food coloring but I love the damn things like… Well, like a fat girl loves ice cream (I can say that, ‘cuz I’m fat, ya’ll). Rainbow sprinkles instantly make ice cream better. Maybe not all ice cream, because butter pecan would be disgusting and confusing with rainbow sprinkles. But plain ole’ vanilla? BRING ON THE SPRINKLES.

So we pull into the drive through and Josh asks me if I know what I want. I hesitate for just a moment, then nod that yes, I do. Now, he has this weird thing about ordering in a drive-thru for me. HE WON’T DO IT. He makes me lean over him and shout into the speaker what I want. So I lean a little and inform the nice man taking my order that I want “one scoop of vanilla, with rainbow sprinkles, in a cup” (‘cuz I don’t wanna be messy, see?). Simple order, yes? Josh orders a chocolate chip milkshake. The guy mumbles something back that sounds like “hurrfur durfur milkshake and blahblah hmpph hrrr babycone will that be all?”
…..Um, sure?
“Okay, that’ll be $3.somethingorother”

Well that seems cheap. Whatever, we pull through to the window and whip out the card. He takes it, walks away and comes back to hand it to us. I peer into the window, my mouth practically watering with anticipation, longing for the moment when those delicious, colorful sprinkles of delight will grace my taste buds with their presence.

A moment later, he returns yet again and hands Josh this:

Um. What?

I’m sorry, but what the effing hell is that? No, seriously. LOOK AT IT. Let’s just talk about this for a second.
I’m not quite sure if you can tell the size from the picture (we put Josh’s thumb in there at an attempt at scale reference) but that scoop of ice cream and the cone could have fit in the palm of my hand. Okay, so, apparently they thought a TINY, TINY WOODLAND CREATURE was ordering some ice cream, BECAUSE THAT’S THE ONLY THING THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN SATISFIED WITH THAT.

Now, let’s talk about the other thing that makes this particular sweet confection a big, fat, WTF Fest. THE FACE. Go ahead and look at the picture again. WHY DOES IT LOOK LIKE MR. BILL.

Oh nooo, Mr. Ice Cream!!

The ice cream seems to be pleading with me not to eat it. Begging for its’ pitiful little vanilla-flavored life. It’s begging me to show it mercy, for the sake of its’ weirdo wife and freako little rainbow sprinkle-covered children. I told it, “No, ice cream, you are not what I ordered and I am so angry I AM GOING TO EAT YOU IN ONE BITE” and the ice cream just looked at me like this

And I shoved the whole damn thing in my mouth making angry noises.

Why didn’t we ask for our money back, you ask? Or perhaps, what I actually ordered? Well, I was too busy reeling from the shock of the Weirdest Ice Cream Ever and my husband was laughing so hard he could barely see straight.

Needless to say, my ice cream craving was NOT satisfied that blistering summer evening and has YET to be fulfilled. I’m still trying to figure out how “one scoop of vanilla, with rainbow sprinkles, in a cup” translated into “a tiny, terrified ice cream man with googly eyes and a rainbow mohawk”. I think it’s one of those great mysteries of life that I’ll never fully understand.