Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

The Grape Jelly Belly Affair

Easter time is upon us. Here's what I don't get about the holiday thing. In a bunch of religions, Christmas is celebrated as the day the Savior was born; and the economy of the entire retail sector of the U.S. economy is fueled by the celebration of that day. On the occasion that cemented the God-as-Man in the pantheon of religious history, Easter egg hunts are the thing that makes the world go round. Retailers and manufacturers, except for the maker of Peeps, seem to have missed the boat on the commercialization of the Resurrection.

The big retail item is ... jelly beans, jelly bird eggs, jelly eggs, or whatever various makers call them.

Let's start with this premise: I hate licorice-flavored jelly beans. I know that real licorice comes in various flavor variations, according to where it's grown and the sub-species of the plant; but, it seems, black jelly beans, no matter what company makes them, pretty much taste alike, unless they are the translucent, white variety my grandmother used to get, which tasted like licorice. I hated those, too. My grandmother said, in her heavy Croatian accent, "Anise," because when it was easier to say one word in answer to a question, that is what she would do. Yeah ... right.

Anise, finocchio, fennel -- I don't care if they come from different plants or whatever, they all taste like licorice.

"Just don't eat the black ones," you're saying, as if I'm some kind of fucking lunatic who doesn't know that.

And I don't. It's not that easy, though, when I'm living with someone who loves black jelly beans. So, you're saying, "That should work well. He doesn't eat the black ones; she does," as if I'm some kind of fucking moron and don't realize that in a perfect world, that would be the case.

I know that -- if only life were that simple. Someone always steps in and fucks with it.

In this case, it's the Jelly Belly people fucking with me. I went to World Market and bought a bag of Jelly Bellies. Because I am such a wonderful guy, I bought a separate little bag of licorice Jelly Bellies for the person who likes those. I never dreamed that she would pour her special bag of black Jelly Bellies into the candy jar with the contents of the big 49-flavor bag, skewing the mixture and over-populating the jar with licorice Jelly Bellies.

What's so bad about that, you're asking, all innocent-like, as if you didn't know. I like the grape-flavored, the flavor the Jelly Belly people call "Grape Jelly." I find it almost impossible to distinguish between the black licorice and the deep purple grape. I have to put them side-by-side in bright sunlight, which we have for only 12 hours, if we are lucky it's not overcast and fucking snowing. The licorice fiend says I have a variation of color-blindness, and it's easy to differentiate the two. She's lying -- I know it. She's trying to drive me fucking insane. But she'll pick out the deep purple one out of the jar and give it to me; so, maybe it is me. Maybe she's not lying.

So, rather than risk getting a black one, I go for juicy pear.

Posted by Bill at March 22, 2008 02:55 PM