Look, frozen yogurt isn’t that great, okay? I’m not saying it’s awful, but it is not a food that deserves to be accompanied by a chorus of feminine squeals every time it is mentioned.
And The New York Observer is backing me up on this. There’s a piece about the rise of frozen yogurt and how it is – as I have always secretly felt – really, really overrated. When I saw this I breathed a sigh of relief, took a gander at the writer’s name (Kim Velsey) and I murmured “you and me, Kim. We are in this thing together.”
I think I meant, “a life defined by not being like other girls, insofar as we have no desire to hang out at Pinkberry eating a substance seemingly defecated out of a machine. Insofar as we do not really want to eat robot poop with cookie dough bits mixed in, basically.”
It’s an increasingly lonely life. The Observer notes:
It was not until one day in Union Square that I realized, in a moment of disquieting clarity, that frozen yogurt shops were everywhere. A Joyride frozen yogurt truck idled by the park, Diet Lite Ice Cream was visible just down 17th Street, and a Yelp search revealed that a Pinkberry, a Tasti D-Lite, a Red Mango, a 16 Handles, a Yoqua Bar and a Yogurberry were all within a five to 10 minute walk. None of which were deemed satisfactory by the friend at my side, who urged us on toward Flavaboom on Sixth Avenue, where one could get the nonfat flavors twisted together and heaped with cheesecake bites and cookie dough.
Nearly skipping with anticipation, she raved about frozen yogurt the whole way there. It was alarming. How could she be so into frozen yogurt? I wondered. How could anyone? This was a dessert, after all, that oozed out of self-serve machines. It was served in a tub. Like margarine. It was nicknamed fro-yo.
THEY ARE EVERYWHERE.
