Ice Cream Surprise

You know what drives me nuts? The taste of wood on my tongue. I am repulsed by tongue depressors and popsicle sticks alike. It makes eating ice cream bars a dangerous experience. I can enjoy the first third of the bar just fine, but as you approach the halfway point, I need to start biting away gingerly, starting from the side of the bar and gradually working my way to the middle, always wary that any moment, that horrible wooden stick will pop up and rub against my teeth. Once the stick is located, eating the bar becomes an excavation task, with the goal of consuming as much ice cream as possible while making minimum contact with the wood. Finally, once all the ice cream is gone -- or at least most of it, since I won't be licking any last remnants off the wood -- you can throw that infernal instrument of oral torture away and be done with it.

I like ice cream sandwiches and sports bars better. With no stick to worry about, I can throw caution to the wind and just munch away, knowing that no rude interruptions will be awaiting me.