Here’s this week’s reminder that Opening Day will, eventually, arrive:
Did you know you can get this shiznit at Kroger’s? For like four dollars, for a box of six?
I am beginning to suspect the price of one at the ballpark is somewhat inflated due to the fact it comes served to you at your seat in a ticketed area with Joey Votto in the background.
We need to have a discussion about the frozen treat aisle and the disintegration of Pudding Pops.
I seem to remember smooth vanilla and/or chocolate-and-vanilla-swirled goodness.
I seem to remember an intoxicating layer of ice that required pre-biting before achieving said goodness.
I seem to remember a dessert that did not smell like just-shorn lumber and crumble like the French in every war ever.
I didn’t even know The Pop had left until I had a tonsillectomy in 1997, and I was left to make do with such tripe as sherbet, Tropical Twists, and Twin Pops. I was so upset that I threw up an entire grape Popsicle Original on the way home from the hospital.
So when I saw that the Pudding Pop had returned, this time under the Popsicle umbrella of icy power, I spent almost four whole entire dollars on a box of twelve, quite sure that the cardboard box was merely a container, and not meant as a pre-flavoring agent. And… and… the Pudding Pops, they’re, like, really small now, and square, and mushy, and they made me cry.
Maybe they always sucked and I was simply naive about the whole thing. Then again, I also used to subsist almost entirely on fake Pez, post-Halloween, and thought nothing of it.
Once I attempted to make my own, a complicated time-consuming nightmare involving ice cube trays, and I bailed on the whole thing because it was just taking up my ice trays, which are better reserved for the vital work of cubes to keep my scotch frosty.
I try to stay away from the frozen novelty aisle because I will just buy something and then eat it. But now I’m nursing a sore throat from a three-hour choir rehearsal, and like all high-octane athletes, I was in search of frozen Twix.
What I got instead was an education. Did you know that Italian Ice now comes in these flavors? Why is this being kept from us, Reds?
We need answers. I don’t care about the shortstop position anymore. I want my blue raspberry frozen ice for $89.95.
Proud aunt Mary Beth Ellis is a freelance writer and college teacher who lives in Cincinnati, OH. Her home site, BlondeChampagne.com, has existed in at least some form since 2003, and Mary Beth has been a regular columnist with one publication or another from the age of 16. Her first book, Drink to the Lasses, was published in 2006. She currently teaches college, runs personal wine tastings, gives literary readings, and stares into the middle distance.