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Last night I had my first Shamrock Shake from McDonald’s. I’ve never been particularly interested in trying one before, even though I am perhaps a prime candidate for enjoying it considering I like both milkshakes and minty things. (Mint chocolate chip ice cream is totes yum!) But for some reason, last night felt like a particularly good night to try one.
I was prepared to like it. I wanted to like it. I really did. I even bought a large!
It tasted like medicine. At first I thought maybe it was just a bad reaction with the gum I had been chewing. You know how sometimes close, but not exact, flavors don’t taste very good together? So I kept sipping it, expecting it to get better, once the gum taste was overridden. It never got better.
I wanted to throw it out the sunroof of my speeding Impala. I wanted to find an effigy of ol’ Ronny Clownface and stare him down Hemingway-style while thinking, “You con man conning me with your con.”
If that was all I probably wouldn’t be that upset. Heck, I probably wouldn’t even write a blog post about it. But that wasn’t all. Last night I laid awake half the night with upset bowels. I’ll refrain from commenting further on the experience other than to say that the excursion through my digestive system didn’t vastly change the shake’s hue.
So, McDonald’s, thank you for reminding me why I almost never visit your establishment.
