Polly didn’t have a sweet tooth. Her mother always insisted they stop at this place for milkshakes, though.
“I’d like a milkshake made with vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup—not chocolate ice cream and chocolate syrup, and not a vanilla milkshake—but vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup,” her mother explained to the boy behind the counter.
“Got it,” he said. He began scooping the vanilla ice cream into the steel malt cup.
“But just please make sure it’s vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup, not chocolate ice cream and chocolate syrup. Otherwise it will be too chocolatey. I don’t like them if they’re too chocolatey, do you Polly? What are you having, Polly?”
“I’ll just have a vanilla milkshake, please.”
“Sure thing,” the boy said. Polly’s mother looked at her.
“You don’t want it with vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup? It’s much better that way,” she said. The clerk looked at Polly and smiled.
“Just straight vanilla, right?”
“Yes. Vanilla everything, thanks.”
