popsicle paint

It was a warm evening at soccer practice. Simone got her usual frozen treat after Roen's game was done. It was a fudgesicle. She was standing right in front of me eating the popsicle or so I thought. Then, she turned around and I gasped in horror. She had painted her hands, arms and face with the fudgesicle and was now an extraordinarily brown and sticky child. I don't carry wipes around with me anymore, so I was totally appalled and started the slow march across three soccer fields to get her to the bathrooms to throw water on her or something. Fortunately, a very kind father of four saw me coming and pulled out a gob of wipes and handed them to me. I could've wept with gratitude.