Vanilla Is the Loneliest Number

There comes a point in every man's life when he has to make an important decision. It could be anything: roll or squeeze the tube? Chocolate or vanilla? 10w-30 or -40? High test or low? Mid-grade? Cream cheese icing? Pound cake or yellow? Convertible or hardtop?

You never can tell what'll come of it. The tiniest of decisions may have huge ramifications. You could miss meeting your mate over something as simple as choosing the wrong icing. Think about it. There you are; both picking your way to the cake through a crowd of wedding-goers. Your future mate approaches from the North, you - from the South. You circle once and sidestep - passing just out of range of several conversation grenades lobbed in your direction by crazy aunt Mattie. "Heyyyy Aunt Mattie can I get you some cake?" Brilliant - she'll grow gray waiting on that delivery.

As you near the table Rich Uncle John leans over to tie his shoe and over his back you see it: gritty white icing with that nasty red rasberry jelly stuff between layers. Bleechhh. If I wanted jelly I'd make some toast.

But who is that lovely brunette reaching for a slice?

Who cares.

You peel off and head for the bar and she marries your cousin based on the strength of his "I can dislocate my shoulder" party trick.

You die lonely.

Don't say I didn't warn you.