Jelly Beans

I have recently discovered a new source of pride: individually wrapped jelly beans. It makes me proud to be an American. It combines the best elements of being an American: waste and an obsession with sterility. Before, if I wanted to give someone a jelly bean, I had to touch it and spread my germs over it thoroughly before handing it to him, sending the highly toxic bacteria that permeates my existence into his bloodstream. Or, an even more horrific prospect, I could allow her to reach in and take a jelly bean. She would inevitably not find the flavor she wanted and contaminate the entire bag while rustling through the jelly beans. Then the next person to want a jelly bean would not only to have to brave my germs, but also those of whoever else reached in. It's a wonder we aren't all dead, at this point.

Thankfully, Jelly Belly is taking good care of me. Now there are individually wrapped jelly beans so that everyone can examine the jelly beans with both eyes and hands, without fear of being poisoned or poisoning the stash.

Also, now I no longer have to be concerned with not being wasteful. Really, the amount of candy to the plastic wrap around an entire bag of jelly beans was shameful. There was only as much plastic in the bag as necessary. But now that I have individually wrapped jelly beans, I have the equivalent of two bags to every bags-worth of jelly beans. I can waste as much as I please, and then toss the tiny plastic wrappers across some pristine forests, hoping that one blows up and chokes a baby bird.

I had thought that some things in my world had plateaued in terms of their excellence, but jelly beans have given that idea a swift kick in the ass. I didn't know that I needed each jelly bean to have its own, tiny plastic home, but it turns out that I did. So thank you, Jelly Belly, for proving me wrong.