Fuck sundaes. Hear me out, I'm not just trying to be a summer bummer. I love ice cream. Hot fudge is delicious. Whipped cream, of course. But that goddamn cherry on top. I just don't care for the texture of cherries. I like cherry flavored things, I like cherry juice, I like when the slot machine shows cherry-cherry-cherry. But I always donated my sundae cherries to my wife. Now I have to deal with them myself, or stop ordering ice cream sundaes. And the latter ain't happening. Out of desperation, I've started whipping them at homeless people.
I've never met a couple, married or dating, where they both like all the same food. My wife, get this, used to give me her bacon. Bacon! That's true fucking love, right there. Now I get no bonus bacon, and I have to set up the fire pit in the back yard to dispose of all my excess sundae cherries.
Can you imagine the weird looks I would get asking for a sundae, no cherry? I'd be branded a Communist Nazi barbarian Trump-supporter. They'd probably just tell me to keep my money, and give me directions to a psych ward. It's bad enough I have to ask for no tomatoes anytime I can afford fast food. Guess who loved tomatoes? When I'm ready to start dating, I have my ideal new girl's food preferences all mapped out. In the end, isn't that what we all want? Someone to enjoy life's unwanted cherries and tomatoes and cherry-tomatoes?
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