Pip pip cheerio, and all that…

Do you think Baskin Robins has thirty one flavors and just lucked out that there’s a hidden ’31’ in their logo? Or do you think they did it on purpose and only chose thirty one flavors? Or they noticed it and when they got to thirty one flavors they were like, ‘hold up, we’ve got to stop here or it’s false advertising.’ 
Did they figure it out after they passed thirty one flavors and they were all, ‘stop everything! …we’ve gone too far.’ 

In my head I’m picturing this all going down in an old timey office with men who possess fantastic mustaches that twirl up at the end in a purely sophisticated manner. All the while puffing on an ornately detailed pipe filled with the finest tobacco, adding to the sophisticated smell of leather bound books and rich mahogany. Their top hats and fancy man canes hung neatly by the door in a row. There’s at least five of these gentleman entrusted with the important decision making of the business…
It was a crisp autumn day, on this November the 20th. The Fathers of the Robinses, or so they had been dubbed given their newly appointed positions as the decision makers of the finest ice cream parlors this side of the Mississippi, were sitting at their leisure at their base of operations. Their office permeating the scents of leather bound books that lined the north facing wall upon an inset bookshelf made of the richest of mahoganies to match their personal desks, hand carved with small flying cherubim armed with small ice cream scoops as they flew about on some godly mission of ice cream holiness. The mid morning light glinting off of the cut crystal decanters of the finest whiskey, bourbon, and sherry placed on a silver cart by the large stained glass window, casting dots of color across the  plastered ceiling. 

Arthur stood by the window, peacefully puffing on his ornately detailed pipe filled with high end tobacco, thinking over ideas to further enhance their business. 

Edward scribbled down notes with a fountain pen, bequeathed to him by the queen of England, in a leather bound ledger regarding this quarters sales and profits.

Charles leaned back in his perfectly broken in leather chair, leg crossed gentlemanly over the other as he scanned through the days news.

William flipped through one of the many books in the north wall, looking for some past expense report that had been brought in to question. 

Edgar, having just finished proof reading the newest list of flavors offered, glanced over at the piece of scrap paper he had been doodling their logo on at the last meeting. His glance changing to an intent gaze as he noticed by happenstance the number 31 that had been hiding right under their noses. Turning back to the papers he had just been looking at and then back to the doodle, and once more back at the papers, counting the flavors that were written upon them. 

‘Thirty three’ he mumbled to himself. 

Arthur, having been the closest in proximity to Edgar, took the pipe stem from his mouth blowing a fragrant cloud of smoke as he turned to look at him. ‘What was that, Edgar my chap? I did not hear you.’ 

‘Thirty three,’ he repeated a half decibel louder.

‘Thirty three? What lunacy are you raving about now man?’

‘Thirty three,’ he said, slamming the papers on the desk before him, standing abruptly. ‘Stop production! …we’ve gone too far!’ 

Charles glanced around his newspaper. Edward peered over his spectacles, pen hovering over his ledger. William slammed the book shut in a moment of startlment. 

….and that’s pretty much how I imagined that happening. 

Also how I went from being super productive today to super unproductive just by looking at my Dunkin donuts cup…

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