For Mother’s Day I bought my Mom a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries from Shari’s Berries. Mom enjoyed them, I enjoyed giving them, and Shari enjoyed making a quick buck. Mom and I haven’t mentioned the transaction since, but Shari, she’s been trying to shove her berries down my throat at every conceivable turn. Well, the conceivable turn called Father’s Day is coming up, and this time Shari’s gone too far…

Gross!!!!! Never use “sweet cravings” and my name in the same sentence. And, if you break that rule, at least spare me the use of my full name. “Sweet cravings, Benjamin?” Where am I, Buffalo Bill’s pit? Thank you, Shari. You’ve officially implanted an untrue sexual molestation flashback in my memory bank.
Oh, in case you’re wondering, the best way to satisfy “Dad’s sweet cravings” is with…

Why did she choose that phrasing? She could’ve gone with “Favorite Strawberries” or “Most Popular Strawberries” or really anything except “Most Wanted” – a phrase we exclusively associate with the FBI’s list of most sought after criminals. It sort of feels like I got the email that was demographically designed for sex workers. Well I’m not a sex worker, Shari! (Though, I guess I’m flattered you think I could be.)
Seriously though, this is fucked up, right? “Sweet cravings” are reserved exclusively for sex, drugs, and murder. Nobody refers to strawberries that way. Cherries, maybe. Ugh. Look what kind of jokes you’re making me write, Shari. Now I feel gross.
My name is Ben and my dad prefers Strawberry Cough.