The tacky film gives me Spider-Man’s grip as I hold the treat aloft. The stick holds no reprieve from the sweet slime, but my grip minimizes surface area touched.
Greedy grabbing fingers from the previous owner supplements the words needed to request its return, having finished re-tying her shoelaces. The lollipop is longer than her leg, even after the inch that disappeared in her mouth.
I barely dodge her drum major conduction, indicating the next ride she wants to go. Indulgence is the name of the game, especially on birthdays. Especially after missing so many.
A sticky hand grabs mine and she pulls me forward, hurrying my steps. I’m not the only that endeavors to spoil her rotten, I just have less of a chance to.
The noise of the world (screaming wheels, shrieking children, and wallets emptying) intrudes once more.
I plot to get her a sugar stick as tall as she is before we leave. She won’t object.
Her mother’s going to kill me.