an ode to Otter Pops

As summer winds to a close, I want to pay tribute to a very special treat that, for me, defines the very essence of this warm, sunny season. I am talking about Otter Pops. You know them: those long, slender, popsicle-like delights that come in a plastic tube. In the "summer sweets" category, they are absolutely without equal.

I love everything about Otter Pops. I love the way they are packaged together, like a string of colorful, delicious machine gun bullets. I love the way that my fingers ache with cold after holding one for a few moments. I love the fact that it is impossible to know what exactly is in an Otter Pop. I love the fact that I am probably better of not knowing.

Most of all, I love the fact that you are never truly done eating an Otter Pop. There is always a little more syrupy goodness to be sucked out of that plastic tube. Always.

One of the great skills that a person can posses is the ability to properly open an Otter Pop (a skill similar to the proper insertion of a straw into a pouch of Caprisun juice). Someone who does not posses this skill (someone like me), must either tear hopelessly at the end of his pop with his teeth like a fool, resort to scissors, or have a skillful pop opener open the Otter Pop for him.

The third option is always the best. When my family sits down to a round of Otter Pops, the boys and I diligently hand our pops to b, who possesses the magic opening skill. I don't know how she does it, but I am so glad that she does.

So here's to you, Otter Pops. Soon we will sadly resign you to the freezer in the garage until next June, when we will pull you back out, dust off the freezer burn and find that, miraculously, not a single iota of your sweetness has been lost.