I have met the enemy. The enemy’s name is Ted Drewes.
Ted Drewes sells frozen custard. Buckets of it.
I went to the opera tonight, joined by one of the guys from the Gateway Men’s Chorus. Since I’m headed to Muncie early Monday morning, I didn’t want a drink after the performance. He suggested Ted Drewes.
Cousin Brad, who lived in St. Louis for several years, castigated me yesterday for not yet having toasted ravioli, and for not yet going to Ted Drewes. Now I understand why he was so insistent that I run, not walk, to Ted Drewes.
Ted Drewes may single-handedly cause me to lose my battle with the waistband. Ted Drewes is just that good.