Milkshake: A Tragic Love Story

There are many of you who know about my relationship with milkshakes, but not everyone knows the whole story. What most people know is that I loved milkshakes. I loved going down to the Grove. I loved whenever that first sip would touch the tip of my tongue. I loved the joy that it brought me. Most people also know that I made a decision to stop drinking milkshakes. What they don't know is how much I lost.

It began early October, right as the holiday season began to make its way into all the local stores. I walked out of the movie theater at the Grove and hopped on over to the Haagen-Dazs. This wasn't my first visit there, but it would soon prove to be the visit that changed everything.

"One dulce de leche milkshake, please!" I would've said.

But that's not what I said.

Because I saw something new. I saw a sign for a holiday-themed milkshake. Peppermint bark? This was new to me, and it sounded delightful.

"One peppermint bark milkshake please," I said.

"Whipped cream?" asked the cute Asian girl with the star tattoo.

"No thanks!"

I handed her my card and took my new favorite drink. As the sweet mix of ice cream, milk, and bits of peppermint made their way into my mouth, my brain told me that this was what would keep me happy. I could feel it coursing through my veins. I would be coming back for this very soon.

Following that day, I was back at the Grove two, sometimes three, times a week. To be honest, it was kind of scary. It grew to the point where whenever I was driving around in my car, my brain automatically thought I was going to the Grove for a milkshake. One time, I drove to UCB for a show, couldn't find parking, shrugged it off and went straight to the Grove. I don't even remember consciously making the decision. The next thing I knew, I was in front of the stand, asking the girl with the star tattoo for another peppermint bark milkshake.

And this is what she handed me.

Was this love?

I was unsure. I walked away quickly and drank my milkshake. I drank it up.

Christmas passed and I went home to DC, but when I came back, I went straight to the Grove. It turns out they continue serving Peppermint Bark milkshakes far past the Christmas season. The girl with the star tattoo and I didn't talk about anything much. I would just order my milkshakes and with a big smile, she'd hand them over. No more hearts in the milkshake. This was a normal relationship between a milkshake vendor and a milkshake customer. Right? Right. I ignored the electricity between us and convinced myself that that was all it was.

Then one day, after running/walking a silly obstacle course with my friends Stephen and Jason, we all went to get milkshakes at Haagen-Dazs. Jason said he would cover us, so he went up to the counter, but as he headed up, the girl with the star tattoo spotted me in line and mouthed, "Peppermint bark, no whipped cream?" Before I knew it, I was nodding, "Yes." Jason turned around and asked me what I wanted, but I looked over at the girl with the star tattoo and she let him know that she was getting it. I was embarrassed. I didn't know what this was.

And then this started happening.

A senior discount. For me. A not-senior.

That was it. I knew that there was something special going on between us, even if to a casual observer, we were just a dealer and an addict. That's when I knew. This was love. We didn't talk about anything but what kind of milkshake I wanted and how much it would cost, but we didn't need to talk about anything else because that's just the kind of relationship we had. We understood each other. We continued on like this until I stopped.

That's right, I gave up milkshakes, because I knew that they were becoming a problem. I knew that I was addicted. (Plus, all the dairy was giving me the farts really bad.) I knew that the girl with the star tattoo would understand.

So I quit. I used Lent as a cover story because I didn't want people to know that I was in recovery.

40 days passed.

Then, on Easter, I went back to the Grove to see the girl with the star tattoo.

She was in the back of the stand. Had she seen me coming? Did she send a different cashier up? I tried to catch her eyeline, but she didn't look at me. I knew that things were different now.

"One peppermint bark milkshake," I said to some dude who wasn't a cute girl with a star tattoo.

"We don't have that anymore," he said.

I felt like my world was crumbling around my feet, but before he could say anything, I managed to weakly let out a response.

"I'll just take a dulce de leche milkshake then."

He handed me a receipt. No senior discount. Another blow to my reality. I looked at her in the back of the stand. She didn't look up. She didn't want to see me.

When the guy handed me my milkshake and not the girl with the star tattoo, I knew that it was really over. What we'd had was done. Of course, I could never blame her. This was all my fault.

I left for 40 days without telling her why. I left because I was scared of what the milkshakes were doing to me. Or maybe I was scared of what was happening between us. I threw away my chance at real love behind, all because I couldn't separate the girl with the star tattoo from the milkshake. For all those months, what had been keeping me happy? Was it the milkshake? Or was it the cute girl with the star tattoo?

I walked away from that Haagen-Dazs and took a sip from my milkshake.

That sip was my last.