They're not actually red

The other night I went to Red Mango and ordered a cup of frozen yogurt with strawberries, pineapples, and mangos.

For those who who don't care for frozen yogurt and/or just don't "get" the whole Pinkberry thing, you might be wondering why in the world I'm actually writing about this. Well, there's only one reason, really.

On my way out the door, I realized something. The first time I'd seen Red Mango while walking through Westwood months ago, the name had piqued my curiosity. I wanted to know what the deal was. I wanted to see what set them apart from their competition. I wanted red mangos in my frozen yogurt. So, the other night, when I finally got around to trying it, imagine my disappointment in discovering that their mangos are just yellow, like any ol' ordinary mangos. They weren't even orange, didn't even have a tinge of red anywhere. I was angry and depressed at the same time, and was really tempted to get my money back. They're called Red Mango but their mangos aren't red! What- the- heck is up with that?!

That brings me back to Pinkberry. As far as fruits go, I like all kinds of berries. Strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, blueberries... dunno about boysenberries, really. I'm open to trying new ones that I've never heard of. So the first time I went to Pinkberry, I was excited to check out their pinkberries. To my dismay while scanning the list of toppings, the pinkberries were mysteriously absent.

Well, my trip to Red Mango was the last straw. Sorry, but I'm not even going to give Snowberry a chance. As they say, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." Fool me three times, well, strike me down with lightning (or a few hundred mangos and berries).

You know, now that I think of it, I've been burned before with this nefarious naming scheme. I first went to The Olive Garden as a kid, maybe 9 or 10 years old. I don't remember what I or my family members ordered, but not a single one of our dishes had olives. There wasn't even a garden at the restaurant. This realization, which came just as my dad was paying the bill, made my brother and I very sad and left a very sour, decidedly un-olive-like, taste in my mouth. Ever since then, when others have wanted to go there with me, I've had to grit my teeth, go along with it, and hide my disdain for their sake and mine.

So now whenever I go out to a restaurant, I'm really wary of what the name promises. I've been disappointed too many times before and I don't think I can take too much more of this false promise, misnomer-ism crap.