It's been a while since I've written a "confessions" column, but I now have something I must admit.
I've become a Jell-O junkie.
You may be asking yourselves, "How could this be? Just last week, he said he didn't like Jell-O."
Well, I found something out this week - something that millions, if not billions, of people already knew: "There's always room for Jell-O."
You know something has to be good, if, in one week, you can go from having a passionate distaste for it, to not being able to get enough of it.
I'm gaga for Jell-O.
See, I have to set this conversion up. I grew up not liking Jell-O. It was really because it's ... well, I can't really describe Jell-O, but let's be honest, "See it jiggle, see it wiggle," would result in "See Curt cringe."
Then I started eating South Beach Living wraps last week. These meals come with Jell-O cups. The entire first week I had these things, I wouldn't eat the Jell-O. They just piled up on my desk like the not-so-leaning Tower of Jiggle. Eventually, I was just passing the Jell-O off to whomever.
If someone wanted my Jell-O, they could have it.
As I stewed on the issue, my hatred of Jell-O began to waiver. Eventually, after everyone else went home one night, I took out a Jell-O cup.
I peeled back the lid, and gazed down at this slick, red substance.
"This junk looks like the gel they put in air fresheners," I said to myself.
So, of course, what do I do? I stick a spoon in the cup, and chow down.
It was gone within a minute. It had a unique taste and feeling. It was bittersweet, and it was slippery as it glided down my throat like a little piece of heaven.
After that, it was all down hill. I've become an addict.
When I open my South Beach Living box now, the Jell-O cup is the first thing I reach for. I sometimes hunch over the cup while I just gobble it up. It's my Jell-O. Get your own.
As I wrote this, I couldn't stop looking over and staring at a Jell-O cup that came with my latest meal. I had already carved a "Smiley Face" into the jiggly food, and begun thinking of ways to devour this face.
I could plunge my spoon into the face, and tear it up. Or, I could pull it out piecemeal, one tiny, red bit at a time.
Eventually, I pulled my fingers away from the keyboard, and stopped typing. I just went ahead and ate that smug, little smirk by carving circles, starting from the outside and working my way in to the center.
That's what it means to be a Jell-O junkie. You can't make it through a single column without lunging at that cup.
Curt Yeomans covers education for the Clayton News Daily. He can be reached at email@example.com.