At the convenience store awhile ago, a car pulled in next to mine and it was a grandmother driving and in back in a car seat, a grandson. The woman was maybe forty, the boy three, and after parking and gathering themselves, they went together into the store and I thought nothing more of them.
But then they came out again, slowly. The grandmother was holding the kid in one hand and a supersized Polar Pop in the other. Coming around to the passenger side of her car, the grandmother reached through the front window and placed the Polar Pop on the dashboard, opened the back door, strapped in the kid, closed the door, and then walked around and got into her car and started it. And then, reaching for the Polar Pop and twisting around as best she could, she handed it off to her grandson.
“It’s all yours honey,” she said. “Mine you don’t drop it.” Then she turned around and backed out. The kid had the drink in both hands and the straw in his mouth. His checks were sucking in and his throat was swallowing and swallowing. The cup was bigger than his head.
It was 7:50 in morning. On the store wall directly in front of me was a large bold image of a Polar Pop. It was white and filled to the top, and there was a straw, and the cup seemed about the size the grandson’s body. On the wall directly to my left (where the grandmother had parked) was the same image.
Twin Polar Pops. $.79 each.