27 September 2005

When ordering goes horribly awry

My parents were each separately surprised when I suggested Friendly's for dinner. Life in absolutes is easier to make sense of: I understand that, but sometimes I'm up for restaurants I don't always feel like eating at. Friendly's is nearby, but the service is hit or miss, and it's the eatery I feel most likely to run into people from high school at. I don't always feel up for that, but today a turkey club supermelt with the bacon burnt sounded pretty good.

As we sat in the narrow booth, I noticed the big Reese's Pieces Sundae promotional photo on the near side of the triangular cardboard display on the table. It's been over two decades, but I remember the last time I had one.

I was between 5 and 7. My parents, brother, best friend, and I had been out hiking all afternoon. Crowded into a single booth, we eagerly poured over the dessert menu. I remember asking what the difference was between a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup and a Reese's Pieces; I was having trouble deciding. In those days (and for years to come) I hated ordering for myself, but since I hadn't decided yet when the waitress returned, I was on my own.

"What would you like, Claire?" my Mom prompted.

"A Reese's penis sundae." Everyone in earshot started to laugh. With a heavy blush consuming my cheeks, I quickly and carefully corrected myself, "Pieces. Reese's PIECES Sundae."

As if that weren't bad enough, I soon discovered that Reese's Pieces were not that good, certainly not as much like Reese's Peanut Butter Cups as my Dad had lead me to believe.


  1. That's a Freudian slip of the best kind.

    Brava, Claire. Brava.

  2. *bows* Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week. Be sure to tell your friends and tip your waitresses.