I’ll Have The Banana Pudding, Hold The Banana.

So you just want pudding then?

Hey guys! The title is, again, accurate today. That’s exciting, right? I went out to lunch with my grandmother and her friends (who, believe it or not, might just be crazier than me). I don’t know about you but I love to hear stories from older people. Of course, you can always learn something from your elders and blah, blah, blah, but if your elders are anything like mine (completely crazy) then their stories are also extremely entertaining.

But the Banana story comes from something that happened to me today–or rather–it happened to two of my grandmother’s friends. Let’s call them Bill and Sharlene. Bill wanted some banana pudding at the restaurant we were at, so he ordered it and Sharlene promised she would eat some of it as well.

But when the waitress comes by, what does she have in her hand? A plate of crust and whipped topping.

“Sorry,” she says. “We’re out of banana.”

“Well, that’s okay.” Bill takes the plate. “I don’t need any topping.”

So she goes away and Bill and Sharlene start eating. Of course, what they soon find out is that there’s no banana in the banana pudding whatsoever, and neither is there any putting. It is literally just graham cracker/cookie crust and this whipped topping thing. No banana, no pudding.

What?

Luckily they weren’t charged for this non-banana pudding banana pudding and all was well that ended well. Until, of course, they got on the topic of desserts and my grandmother’s own embarrassing moment from the night before made its story-telling debut.

You see, we had bought all of the ingredients to make a peach cobbler earlier that day (she had told my Aunt Mona–whose house we were going to for dinner–that she really wanted to make a dessert).

“Do you have ice cream?” she had asked Aunt Mona.

“No.” Was the response, so we ended up buying some of that as well.

As we were driving to my Aunt Mona’s house that evening (after picking up my grandmother’s other friend, Gracie–the same friend we had forgotten to pick up for dinner two weeks previously (she waited outside a whole hour before we finally realized we had forgotten her–oops)) my grandmother nearly chokes me to death with my own seat-belt as she slams on the brakes.

“Oh, no!” She cries. “We forgot to grab the ice cream.”

10 seconds later.

“OH *&%%! I forgot to make the cobbler.”

And that was how this dessert loving teenager did not get any cobbler this weekend! For shame!!! Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘you could have reminded her about the cobbler’, but alas, I have the memory of a goldfish and am the LAST person you want to ask to remind you of anything. It’s really bad. I also have the attention span of a rock.

Which leads me to my next order of business: apologizing to all you readers for not updating A Marginal Tale as I had promised in my last post. Well, fear not! It will be done ASAP!

I believe that is it for now. Have a good week and may the dessert menu be ever in your favor.

Mel

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