What Do Baby Wipes Taste Like? and Life’s Other Great Questions
In my 29th year on this earth, I’ve discovered two things about myself: I’m a curious and obsessive person.
Over Thanksgiving, my little cousin Abigail had this “game” (I’m not sure I’d call it that) were you spin to see which color jelly bean you have to eat from an assortment of different flavors. This “game” is like jelly bean roulette, where one iteration of that color bean will be delicious: Pear. Peach. Tutti Fruitti. The other, more unfortunate iteration is terrifying: Booger. Barf. Stinky Socks. Not only is it deeply fascinating to me how accurate a Stinky Socks jelly bean can be, it amazes me that all this “fun” can be purchased for $5.99. America, am I right? I cannot warn you enough: if you roll the Tutti Fruitti/Barf option… quit the game. Disown your family. Sever all ties. Take to the hills and rue the day you ever agreed to play Bean Boozled. It is by far the most fowl thing you could possibly ever taste on purpose.
But despite all that… I could not NOT play this game. I had to know what all the flavors were, and if they were accurate. I ate every kind. Lawn clippings? Tastes just like Saturday mornings. Toothpaste? Minty and fresh but not a substitute for really brushing, sadly.
This experiment led me down a rabbit hole of thoughts like, how do you make a jelly bean taste like a foot? Who was the food science grad student who signed off on the canned dog food flavor? How many people had to agree that the booger flavor was accurate?
But I’m also obsessive. Right before the 8th Harry Potter movie came out, I was feeling all kind of emotions: remorse about childhood being over, anxiety over whether or not they would let Matt Lewis/Neville be his true attractive self, etc. To combat these feelings, I decided to start re-reading and re-watching all the books and movies from the beginning, back to a time when Neville was a buck-toothed scaredy cat. But this was not some cute, nostalgic leisure-time reading. This was weird, never-coming-out-of-my-room-Howard-Hughes-peeing-in-jars kind of obsessive. I started to think my red-headed mailman was Rupert Grint. People asked me to kindly stop talking with a British accent. Things were bleak. But then, the 8th movie mercifully came out. I stopped wearing robes. I became Morgan, normal human girl, again. No longer Morgan, angry non-magical squib.
PS. The baby wipes flavor is SCARY accurate. I’ve never eaten/licked one (that I know of) but I do know that’s exactly what they taste like. I’m pretty sure they make them by wringing out Pampers Wipes and injecting the juice into the beans. It’s the only answer. That, or Magic. I’ll ask Rupert next time he delivers something I ordered from Amazon Prime. (But all of that for another day.)