Day 192

I lived in the suburbs of Columbus, Ohio up until the time I was in third grade. For those of you who may not know, Columbus is not only the home of the Buckeyes.

It is the home of Wendy's fast food.

Yes, the first Wendy's was- and still is- located in Columbus, Ohio. So as you can imagine, there is a Wendy's to match every Starbucks in town.

I can still remember asking every Sunday after church if we could go to Wendy's on the way home, because every once out of a hundred requests- it actually worked. I can still remember sitting in the way-back of the wood-paneled station wagon, happily eating my Kids Meal and Frosty. In general, if we got the rare treat of fast food, it was the little red-head with pigtails that won over the clown with big red feet every time.

Some things just never get old- and a Frosty is one of them. Rumor has it there are people out there that dunk their fries in them (ga-rosss), but there is something about a spoonful of pure chocolate Frosty that just makes me happy.

Of course some things have changed- you can now choose between chocolate or vanilla. They asked me which flavor I wanted, and I know they thought I had a senior moment, because I just stared at her blankly for a moment....They also have hamburgers on pretzels buns, as well as salads with grilled chicken and strawberries. But the staples of Singles, chili, and the infamous Frosty remain.

When I picked up the 11-year old from summer camp today he got in the car with that look on his face that all kids get when they want to ask for something...After some prodding, he sheepishly admitted to craving Wendy's for dinner.

"OH and we could get a Frosty!" he said, his eyes lighting up with delight.

When I told him yes, he got a look of distrust on his face.

"Really?"  Fast food is not something I usually agree to.

"Yup", I said, remembering fondly having that same reaction when my mom or grandma said yes to my hundredth plea from the back of the station wagon.

I am happy to say that he ordered water and a small fry with his million-calorie single cheeseburger ("since I'm getting a Frosty, Mom") without any prompting. And I have to admit that the strawberry and chicken salad I had was pretty tasty.

But we both knew what we were there for. The Frosty. Oh yeah. We shared one, hurriedly slurping down each spoonful so we could beat the other back to the cup- giggling and commenting on how good it tasted. I let him have the last dregs at the bottom, and threatened him with extra chores if he even thought about dipping a left-over french fry in the last couple of bites.

Today's pic represents passing along a little bit of tradition, and the fun of sharing dessert. Its a good thing it was spoons and not forks that we ate with...