Writing prompt: Tell me everything you know about Jell-O.
Nearly everything that passed for dessert at any church picnic I ever attended was made of Jell-O. Pies with chocolate or butterscotch Jell-O pudding chilled under a layer of graham cracker crumbs – those were favorites. Being a bit of a perfectionist, and always one to take steps to make sure my little piles of food never touched, I cringed a bit as I scooped out my slice and watched the crumbs fall all over the mashed potatoes or shower the green bean casserole. And then, if I didn’t get to the pie quickly enough, it would start to lose its firmness and sag, leaving a wider footprint on my already overbooked and flimsy paper plate as it encroached closer to the meatloaf. If food had attitude, Jell-O would be lethargic, apathetic and just plain rude.
But give me some vanilla pudding with Nilla wafers and I’m a happy guy.
The worst were the casserole dishes with bright red finger Jell-O – the kind you could supposedly just pick up and eat without utensils. If the picnic was outside, these tended to get a layer of anti-coagulated Jell-O blood on top that made picking up a chunk damn near impossible. If I didn’t drop the little two-square-inch slippery bastard on my clean shirt and leave a nasty stain, then the goo on my fingers would eventually do the trick.