Dear Upper East Side,

I’m writing this letter with sadness in my heart and hot fudge in my hair. I’ve spent the last two months scooping your ice cream and ringing up orders and now its time for me to go home. But even though I must leave, I wanted to spend a few final moments reflecting on our time together.

Like remember all those times when you came in with your Blackberry in one hand, your Bugaboo stroller in the other, and you didn’t even look up from your phone to place your order? I always respected you for your determination to complete your conversation, even if it sometimes meant you couldn’t make eye contact with me.

Or haha, I’m cracking up about that time I gave you two cents in change and you held your hand out waiting for it so you could put it back in your Prada wallet, which you shoved into your Fendi bag instead of the tip jar. That was a great time. Read More »