A Cinderella Stoy - Chocolate Milkshake Style

October. Reading week. That was when it happened.

I had gone back home for the week and it was on my first night out with friends after being away for two nights that it happened. That I found - it.

A friend and I had gone to bar, and then another. We'd been drinking quite a bit and I can safely say I was thoroughly - sloshed. It was must have been around 2AM when we decided to wander (stumble) over to a nearby 24HR diner. I had never been to this diner before, I don't trust diners too much - especially not franchised ones.

I've had too many bad experiences at Denny's. THAT IS NOT FRENCH TOAST! HOW DARE YOU TRY TO CONVINCE ME THAT, THAT IS FRENCH TOAST! WHAT IS THIS!? TABLE SYRUP! THIS IS CANADA AND YOU GIVE ME TABLE SYRUP! Ahem! Sorry, sorry. It was - traumatic, to say the least. But I digress.

So we sat down at a both, more like fell on to a booth, but nonetheless. The diner was nearly empty and thus we were immediately approached by a waitress, a very patient one considering our obvious inebriated state. My friend order a poutine, while I attempted to uncross my eyes and read the menu, this took a couple of minutes to achieve. Like I said, we had a very patient waitress. I flipped through the menu a couple of times until my brain focused on the familiar word MILKSHAKE.

"Milkshake, chocolate milkshake please" I slurred, I'm pretty sure the waitress giggled a little. My inner-eight year old persona takes complete possession of me when I'm in a weakened state. After taking our orders the waitress trotted off, and my friend and I commenced some incoherent conversation about who knows what. Perhaps we were talking about entirely separate things. THEN! The milkshake arrived.

I sipped. I sipped and my eye grew wide! The taste, the thickness, the smoothosity, the ease and yet struggle of the straw-journey. It was profound. Fireworks were going off in my mind. I'd like to think my taste buds weren't drunk, I'd like to think that the inebriation had no effect on my experience. If this is the case, if my experience was not effected by the drunkenness, this chocolate milkshake has been the most wonderful I've had in over three years!

I began to squeal and giggle and proclaim to all those in the diner the marvelous delight that could be had by drinking that chocolate milkshake. My friend quieted me, but only to point of whispering. I insisted that they take a picture of this milkshake, informing them that I needed for proof of my chocolate milkshake quest's progress. After we paid, my friend and I parted, returning to our respective homes.

The next morning, the sunlight shone through my curtains and I pulled the covers over my head. I realized that the due to the certain effects of alcohol (poor memory recall), I couldn't remember the name of the diner, what the chocolate shake looked like, how much it cost, the size, or even if there had been whip cream on top. I scrambled to find my phone to see if my friend had sent me the picture they had taken, but I found nothing, and when I asked them to send me the picture they replied that they must have deleted it last night accidentally.

I was left with a metaphorical glass slipper; the memory of the blissful feeling that enveloped me with every sip I took of that chocolate milkshake.