The toddler waddles through the fog of thousand-degree heat, one chubby hand gripping her mother’s calloused pinky, the other tightly fisted up holding a treasure. Her cheeks, round and flushed as a honeycrisp, keep receiving the most despicable treatment: strangers in the amusement park regularly reach down and squish her face. With each unwanted poke and prod, she whines in great distress and hobbles over with all the dignity of a tortured soul to her mother’s leg, where she buries her face into the cool jeans. This is most unfair! Most! Her poor mother is no match for the perseverance of Those Nosy Pinchers, as her mother likes to say.

The greatest grievance she has, though, comes when a stranger asks about the treasure she’s protecting in her fist. “No, no!” she says stubbornly, gripping her prize even tighter so that they cannot steal it. But then the unthinkable happens—her precious hoard, consisting of one very, very special candy, squishes through its silvery foil wrapper in a melted gooey mess.

And she starts to wail, having lost the Hershey’s kiss so valuable to her.