Monday, October 12, 2009


GRAMMY: Where the hell are all my damned popsicles? I just bought a twenty-four pack and they’re all gone.

JULIUS: Sorry, Grammy. I took them.

GRAMMY: You ate twenty-four popsicles in three hours?

JULIUS: I didn’t eat them, Grammy.

GRAMMY: You just said you did. You just said . . . . No. You said you took them. Your mother probably doesn’t even let you eat popsicles, I’ll bet. So what the hell did you do with twenty-four of them, boy?

JULIUS: I made this. For you. It’s a coaster. You can put your whisky glass on it. Or the glass with your teeth in it.

GRAMMY: You made it for me, huh?

JULIUS: Uh, huh.

GRAMMY: Barbara! Get your ass in here and look at what my great-grandson made me!

ME: In a minute, Grammy. I seem to have a puddle of . . . popsicles . . . in my purse.

Photo: Jim Sneddon

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