I tore apart the rapper like a present on Christmas morning. The popsicle was as rosy as my grandma’s lipstick. It tasted like fresh picked cherries that had been frozen. The texture was mostly smooth, and melted in my mouth. I never bit directly into it, as I do not enjoy the cold feeling on my sensitive teeth. I began to get disappointed as the popsicle grew smaller and smaller. The faint taste of wood from the popsicle stick did not mix well with the deliciousness of the frozen cherries. As I devoured the last bite, my stomach growled as if wanting more. The stick did not contain a joke, which I normally look forward to. As I threw away the rapper, I could not help but think about lunch, and how the popsicle was just a tease.
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