Yogurt Time

Always great flavors and toppings!

Wonderful choice for summertime

Yummy.

Good

You come to the heavy glass door, feeling the weight of your decision, knowing it was right. You earned this, you tell yourself. The day was long, and the challenges were many. So you heave that door open, and walk in, intensely conscious of the gravitic decisions to be made, just ahead. Without pause, you whip your head to the right, and behold an abundant, neatly stacked pile of paper cups, beckoning you. Your cup may be either conspicuously yellow, or not yellow; but either way, Its' destiny and yours are now intertwined. Unhesitatingly, and with the same air of confidence that you used to throw open that hefty door, you proceed to grab the smooth, bulbous handle, give it an authoritative yank, and hearing the characteristic low rumble you coil an intimate quantity of yogurts into said cup. You are not certain if the pineapple whip is going to mingle well with dutch chocolate. But, like an entitled 18th century imperialist, unabashedly mixing cultural traditions; unencumbered by convention, you sail into the dark and swirling waters of terra incognita, and never look back. The yogurt is in that cup now, and that cup is in your hand. But now, tempted by myriad bins of crumpled oreos, brilliantly-hued hard candies and gummy creatures, you demure, and realizing you are a grown up now, and yogurt is refined! Not some childish Halloween fantasy! you instead sprinkle some nuts on that majestic heap. Lots of nuts! But not just any nuts, Almonds! That king of nuts! You feel a sudden rush of pomposity and righteousness. You chose nuts. But then, looking down, horrified, you realize that your yogurt resembles that of a bitter, old, sad and shriveled codger, who has lost all sight of joy, beaten down by life, choosing only the most conservative of toppings from some long begotten era, self-flagelating upon the altar of righteous maturity. So, unbroken in spirit, with a renewed sense of purpose, you toss back the metal hood of that last refrigerated topping bin, scoop a healthy portion of tiny colorful juice balls on your now nearly full cup, and top it with a slightly dessicated brownie square. Now you think, now my yogurt is complete, a true expression of my triumphant vanquishment of those innermost fears and reservations, a reflection of my worth as can only be embodied by a mushy frozen confection. Still basking in that ebullient glow, you pay at the counter, marveling at the density and weight of that ephemeral creation, unspoilt in it's aesthetic symmetry and form. So enamored by your creation, you nearly walk out without even a thought of napkins or a spoon, but the clerk reminds you; for what is it, if not to eat? You've made it, and now... now you will eat it. And it will be good.

Very clean, attentive & helpful staff.

A sign on the door says closed until spring and to visit the location on summerfield Road.