(7-11 at Addison and Pulaski, Memorial Day)

For the first time in at least twelve years I got a powerful craving for a Slurpee, probably because my friend Genghis asked to stop for one on the way back from Forgetting Sarah Marshall last week. Luckily 7-11s are as prevalent as cigarette butts in the city and there happens to be one about two minutes from my apartment.

I scrutinized the flavors, trying to guess inside my head if the “Piña Colada” flavor contained milk. A classic, real piña colada does not, but most flavorings exchange more-expensive coconut milk for less-expensive dairy.

“Got a weird question,” I said to the register guy. “Do you have a list of ingredients for the Slurpee flavors?”

He smiled, laughing. “Sorry, no. Nobody asked me that before neither! Why, what’s the problem?”

I bought a Coca-Cola flavor instead and explained that I’m lactose intolerant, that milk hides in sneaky places you wouldn’t expect it.

Outside, a girl who’d been in line first stopped me. “I’m lactose intolerant too, and it doesn’t give me any problems,” she said, as I envied her Piña Colada Slurpee. She looked about 20, small and pretty, with a feathery white hair clip and dark lipliner.

Then she laughed. “But I can eat anything right now since I’m pregnant!” she said. “Maybe that’s it.”

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