When did "fudge" become a bad word?

They say you have to choose your battles. Determine the hill that you are willing to die on. Not surprisingly, my hill is made up of vanilla ice cream peaked with rivers of hot fudge. 

Mere hours ago, Brad and I were in the drive-thru of our (formerly) favorite, frequently-visited, fast food place. As I juggled our purchases, quickly inventorying the bag (We'd been burned before), I didn't notice the state of our sundae cups fast enough. 

"Uh...Brad," I said, holding up the cup for his inspection. He nodded. "Kinda skimpy on the hot fudge," he noted, PREPARING TO DRIVE AWAY. Obviously, my husband had clearly failed to recognize a crisis when he saw one. "There is...like...a nickel-sized dollop of hot fudge on my ice cream," I reported angrily. "Do you want to go in?" he asked rhetorically. He was talking to a woman that hides in bagged mulch forts outside grocery stores, cries in front of spaghetti sauce selections, and has abandoned shopping carts when she couldn't decide on a new couch cushion. He was NOT prepared for my level of righteous indignation. 

"Yes," I stated flatly, "I'm going in."

This is what I expected:

    Amy enters her restaurant, Old Reliable, clutching her fiasco of an order. Employee spots this regrettable error and immediately apologizes before offering to top off Amy's dessert with copious amounts of thick, rich, deliciously hot chocolate fudge. Amy thanks employee and skips away happily.

This is what ACTUALLY happened:

    Amy enters her restaurant, Old Reliable, clutching her fiasco of an order. Manager notices Amy and, frowning, clearly thinks this customer is being ridiculous. Obviously, there are bigger problems in the world~~Manager does not realize that Amy already knows this. Amy cannot unload all those backed-up cargo ships in California. Amy cannot wave a wand and make Covid go away. Amy cannot eradicate world hunger, cure cancer, or spay/neuter the global population of domesticated pets. But Amy CAN request that she receive what she ordered and paid for from her formally favorite fast food restaurant. 

Frowning, Manager outlines three viable options to solve Amy's problem.

    1.  Manager can fill a cup with additional hot fudge as, with Covid protocols, Manager cannot handle the order once it had changed hands ("They had no problem handling our Covid-encrusted cash," Brad said later.) I pictured myself clumsily trying to pour my cup of hot fudge onto my sundae and decided that Option 1 was not for me. This wasn't "Build-a-Bear," after all. If I wanted to make my own sundae, I'd have had Brad make me one at home.

    2.  Manager can make me two new sundaes...Yay! Sign me up! EXCEPT...I would have to throw away my current order. I...I...I...would have to throw away my current order because, due to Covid protocols, Manager cannot handle the original order once it had changed hands (Brad's quote again inserted here). Let's return to the part where Amy can't eradicate world hunger but I certainly don't want to contribute to the problem by blatantly wasting perfectly good food. Forget Option 2.

    3. I forget Option 3 because by now I was so upset that I wasn't thinking clearly. I imagine that Option 3 maybe had something to do with a refund or planting a tree in Israel in my name.

What do I do? Fortunately, my friend Donna was in line placing an order (Let us pause in supplicative prayer that poor Donna had better luck than I did). "What should I do?" I asked her. She eyed my poor excuse for a sundae and encouraged continuing quest. I then spotted another friend seated behind me, enjoying lunch with her grandkids WHO WERE DESSERT-LESS! A-ha!

"I know there isn't much hot fudge on it," I said apologetically (The first apology uttered in this establishment thus far) to her, "but would the kids enjoy the ice cream?" She assured me that they would. Happily, I returned to the counter to retrieve my new order, generously topped with hot fudge (AS I HAD ORIGINALLY ORDERED). I shared with Manager how I had solved the problem and requested two spoons for the kids. 

Frowning even more (if that were even possible), Manager than tells me that I MUST throw out those "sundaes." Obviously, I disagreed. If she wanted them thrown away, then she should have done it but, since, due to Covid protocol, I am given that responsibility, well then...

Apologizing...NOT for the screwed up order...that she must follow Covid protocol due to health regulations, Manager begins to skulk toward the children...oh no, NOT THE CHILDREN!!! 

(Que "She's a Mean One, Mr. Grinch")

I rush ahead of her to toss the lack-luster products away myself, immediately replacing them with my new ones before storming out of the building (after blowing kisses to the kids and embracing my friend Donna).

Brad was understandably confused when I returned empty-handed and furious. I filled him in in between filling my mouth with fries. Disgusted, I spat one out. "What's wrong now?" he asked. "They're rubbery," I wailed. He laughed. "Wanna take 'em back in?"