My Neighbour Errol- Milkshakes
The other day I got a text from Errol. It said as follows:
“We are going to Stratford to hang with a friend. Kids are hungry so we stopped here. They serve milkshakes…I am THE most weak willed person on the planet.”
It was followed by this picture.
Seems innocent enough. So he wants a milkshake. So what? What’s so bad about that? At worst, he’ll gain five pounds and then proceed to curse the heavens for his poor metabolism (oh wait…that’s what I do…).
Well, here’s the thing…Errol is lactose intolerant. Not the “I get a slight tummy ache when I drink milk” type either. I’m talking about the “your bowels will liquefy and you will spend an hour on the toilet regretting ever being born” type.
You’d think after experiencing this even once Errol would avoid milk products like he avoids nature.
And for the most part he does. Except when it comes to milkshakes.
If there is a milkshake on a menu, Errol will order it. Without fail. Every single time. And he will take great delight in drinking it. Every single time.
And then he will almost instantly regret it. Every. Single. Time.
And it’s not like he orders something like the extra small milkshake to lessen the impact on his digestive system. No, he always walks out with the largest milkshake possible fully knowing the horror that will follow.
It doesn’t matter if he has an entire two hour car ride to endure. It doesn’t matter if he has a concert or video shoot. He will down that milkshake like the world depends on it.
What is it about the milkshake that makes him lose all control? He can avoid ice cream and milk just fine. Is it because a milkshake is drinkable? Is it the taste? The consistency? Admittedly, they do look delicious but still…does that justify the horrible decision?
Now, perhaps I’m being unfair. We all do this after all, we all have things we are not allowed but we go for it anyway. My dad is diabetic and he has been known to overindulge during holidays. I as well have a mild allergy to hazelnuts but that doesn’t stop me from enjoying an entire jar of Nutella.
But there’s a difference between overindulging once or twice a year and getting an itchy mouth for a few hours and having your insides gutted out by a dairy bully on a monthly basis.
Again, maybe I’m being too hard on the guy, but then he feels the need to tell us about it. All of it.
For instance, during the incident in question I decided to go out for breakfast. This is what I was eating.
And this is the text I received shortly after receiving my food:
“Please. Pleeease help…soo smeary.”
He’s lucky that I’m not easily put off my food otherwise I would have had to kill him for ruining bacon.
There are many things that Errol can make me feel guilty about. This is not one of them. After he has his milkshake, as he is writhing in agony complaining like a five year old who ate too much candy, I am absolutely resolute in giving him zero pity. I tell him he’s an idiot and that I feel sorry for his wife who is responsible for cleaning their bathroom.
This does not stop him from ordering a milkshake next time he’s out. Nor does it stop him from texting about it. So instead this is a warning to you all. If you are out with Errol and he orders a milkshake, make sure he is not coming to your house after. Your plumbing will thank you.