Yesterday, I made Jell-O for the first time. Ever! Raspberry Jell-O. Because I cleaned out the cupboards and the expiration date was June 2007. Oh! Better use that up! (And did I buy Jell-O?)
When I told the children there was Jell-O for dessert, they actually stampeded and radiated sunbeams. They bolted from the table to the fridge to start scooping out that magic. They thanked me for the bounty, for my generosity and vision. They embraced.
Wow. I wasn't quite sure how to interpret this but John did.
"Guess there's a little bit of white trash in everyone."
You should know that I am one foot out of the trailer park. Welfare, food stamps, low-income housing and an incarcerated father were my low-brow credentials as a child. Just where do you think that book material came from?
Perhaps you can give the girl an education but you can't take her children out of the trailer park? And yes, I am deploying Stereotype. You're allowed to when you've lived through them. Moreover, I am slamming Jell-O. Is the matron a bit of a daredevil today?
Oh, and guess what! Despite (or because of?) one's roots, it is possible to make Jell-O incorrectly and ruin it, and your children will point this out, shattered, once they take a hard look at the texture (let alone taste the runny stuff). Maybe that expiration date meant something?