I am no stranger to DQ. In the land of choice (i.e. Chicago) however, it never stood a chance. Too many other options. I did have it a couple times over the years (I’m looking at you, Georgianne Kamberos) — but if we’re going to be honest, it never seemed quite right. DQ seems like small-town ice cream. It tastes different somehow. Better.
So two weeks ago, just one day after my arrival, we hightailed it down to the local DQ here in Murray. The 60-yr-old DQ. The one whose original sign was JUST replaced two months ago. (I am sorry to have missed that.)
On a summer’s night, the wait is upwards of 20 minutes.
On my first trip, I had on fitted pants, a flowy blouse and rhinestone-studded sandals. Eyeliner and mascara, too.
Flash-forward 2 weeks later. My outfit:
Inside-out, bleached stain sweatshirt, baggy workout pants, $5 flip-flops and a FANNY PACK. (I don’t think I need to mention that I hadn’t showered all day nor was wearing any makeup. Well, and that my hair hadn’t been combed. I think you could probably gather those details from the description of my outfit.)
I’m an extremist. In most things. I either go hard or go home.
In Chicago, I wouldn’t have left my home in such a getup. (I would have at the very least ditched the fanny pack and changed into jeans.) But here? Well, let’s note a conversation that was had yesterday in the local coffee shop/Christian book store.
“Yeah….Murray is a great town. Great size for raising children. Not the best selection for shopping or restaurants, but really great place where you get to know your neighbors and can just be comfortable. And no one cares what you look like here! You can wear anything!” (*note: He was a CEO of a local company, who had decked himself out in a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt.)
Thank God he was right. Really takes the pressure off, so I can just enjoy my ice cream in my pajamas.