I Brought Your Child an Oversized Lollipop Because I Hate You

Well, I should probably get going, but this was such a fun visit. And it was especially great to see you, Jimmy! You know, I actually have a little treat for you because you were so good and because I secretly hate your father: an oversized lollipop that you will spend the next four to six days unsuccessfully trying to eat.

You’re very excited, I can tell. How could you not be, given how big and colorful it is and how unfathomably sticky it will soon make every square inch of your house, including rooms you have never even been to yet? So you’re going to insist on opening it before your dad has the chance to say, “We’ll have this after dinner,” and distract you with Mickey Mouse Funhouse episodes until you forget it exists, right? Good boy.

You know, opening the oversized lollipop is actually one of the best parts of this whole lengthy and horrible process. Obviously, you’re going to want to do it yourself—it is your lollipop after all—but you’ll soon realize it is packaged in an incredibly tight and industrial-strength layer of shrink wrap with no viable entrance point. It would be a challenge to unwrap even for an adult who spent the bulk of his adolescence learning how to get a similar type of packaging off Jimmy Eat World CDs, let alone for a three-year-old whose biggest physical accomplishment to date is carrying a plastic plate from the table to the sink while only dropping three of the five clementine slices on it. And just remember, if Dad offers to help you, it really means he is trying to eat the lollipop himself, so you must loudly and repeatedly refuse all of his efforts. Just ask him to let you use the box cutter instead.

But the real fun begins once you get the wrapper off, as eating this thing is nowhere near as simple as popping a Hershey Kiss in your mouth (they had plenty of those at the candy store, and I would have gotten them instead of this monstrosity if your dad hadn’t made us watch Alien vs. Predator instead of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind at that movie night we had back in 2004). No, it will be a challenge that borders on the metaphysical. You’ve probably noticed by now that the lollipop is much bigger than your actual mouth, which may have seemed exciting at first but will soon reveal itself to be a challenge that your still-developing brain is incapable of processing. Where do you even start with trying to eat this thing? It is impossible to know, meaning the only answer is to sob uncontrollably after every attempt and sob even harder if your dad tries to offer you any guidance.

And we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet: the stickiness. It actually began infecting your home and body as soon as you laid eyes on the lollipop, and your dad won’t fully finish getting rid of it until years after he forgets I ever gave it to you in a passive-aggressive attempt to make him apologize for the Alien vs. Predator debacle from twenty-two years ago. But he’ll have plenty of other concerns to take care of in the meantime—namely, the fact that the entire lollipop is just seconds away from becoming permanently enmeshed in your hair. He will spend the next three weeks trying out different shampoos to get it out. None of them will work. All of them will make you cry.

Anyway, I really do need to get going. I hope you enjoy the lollipop and never forget what a piece of garbage Alien vs. Predator was, especially compared with the innovative grandeur we could have enjoyed if your dad had just let us watch Eternal Sunshine instead.

Oh, and the lollipop was on sale for $15.95. So, you know, your dad can Venmo me for that whenever.