After an eight-hour workout at the gym, in which I mostly drank Gatorade and used cheesy pickup lines on girls running on the treadmill, I should end my manly day by engulfing some hearty, cholesterol-filled steak. But instead, I follow the South Florida hipster trends.
This annoying desire to fit in led me to a frozen yogurt shop, where you will usually run into every personality ranging from gangster rappers to your grandma. For some reason all of Miami has fallen for the sugar-free, lightly colored mushiness that you have the option to smother with Oreo cookies, gummy bears or fake strawberries for the low price of $16 an ounce.
As I sprinkle Fruity Pebbles on my nonfat, red velvet cupcake yogurt, there is a small part of me that doesn’t find the appeal of this snack that was once only consumed by third grade Girl Scouts after school.
I can’t deny that frozen yogurt is tasty. That’s not the issue. The complaint is about walking into a restaurant painted like a Chuck E. Cheese’s mixed with a “Powerpuff Girls’” episode (I’m not proud to say that I watched it). Even worse is waiting in line behind people who are so excited to mix yogurts that they have to Instagram it.
Ordering coffee at Starbucks is complicated enough, but now I have to memorize yogurt combinations too. With 60 different yogurt flavors and 500 toppings to choose from, I just can’t find the space in the tiny paper bowl they give me to fit it all.
As college students, do we really need to stoop that low and hang out at yogurt shops? Let’s be honest here, we all crave sugary ice cream with peanut butter cups and chocolate syrup running down our faces as opposed to basically eating watered down fat-free whipped cream.
So unless you’re dating a high school senior, there is no reason to choose Menchie’s over a decent restaurant. As tacky as T.G.I. Friday’s is, it’s still better than a Friday night with froyo where you will most likely be surrounded by an entire girls’ pee wee soccer team.
Instead of scooping yogurt from my pink spoon with a winky cartoon face on it in front of all the hipsters that are too lazy to find a food truck, I will go home and pull a Go-Gurt out of my freezer and into my mouth.
There I can enjoy a simple yogurt with no complicated toppings, and no people to judge my fruity cravings. That may have sounded a little strange, but at least I’m not at a public yogurt gathering.
Kyle Rambo is a junior majoring in math.
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