Continuing what’s apparently becoming a series on how I’m unforgettable, a public relations associate sent a text the other day, asking if we could get together soon so he could deliver some ice cream.

Each year, he demands to give me ice cream. In return, I demand access to his hard-hitting clients, which include, but are not limited to, Renfro’s Salsa and Curly’s Frozen Custard [full disclosure: his less delicious clients include one of the government muckity-mucks who cut the ribbon in that first link].

I received a phone call back in December, demanding to know my favorite flavor of ice cream. But it couldn’t [couldn’t] just be a standard flavor. In fact, we workshopped this ice cream situation for quite some time [probably while I should have been at work. But listen, journalism students: you must build contacts]. I did have to pick a flavor, but also select mix-ins. We came to an agreement my fantasy ice cream would be mocha ice cream with peanut butter cups.

He usually delivers the ice cream around Christmas, but I was out of town, leading to that text.

At the risk of editorializing, his choice to name the concoction, “Simply Elegant,” is an excellent way to describe this reporter.

This public relations associate has gained some fame in my social circle. He apparently would show up at the hospital after the car crash that I still think sounds made up and drop off frozen custard for my family and the nurses who were real troopers.

This was not frozen custard, though. It’s ice cream. I wonder if this is a conflict of interest.

But enough about me. This all came in handy when a coworker announced her resignation.

I offered to bring some ice cream to her party today. So we looked at the website for the place John used to concoct made up flavors every year.

We were in way over our heads.

We agreed “Disco Lives” would not live to the final round. Nerds don’t belong in ice cream.

She also wasn’t a fan of the sorbert flavors. But she also didn’t seem to think it was weird that I kept calling it, “sorbert.”

We settled on Reese’s & Fudge and New York Cheesecake.

I was explaining this situation to Milwaukee Joe’s scoopstress, though, and she convinced me to buy a separate bit of Dr Pepper ice cream because of my history with Dr Pepper. So I still contributed to the frozen dessert economy.

In conclusion, I would enjoy walking over to my editor’s desk and explaining, “I’m kind of a big deal.” Now, I’ll explain to her replacement, “Um, I am simply elegant, after all.”