Endeavor In Deliciousness

Today I had a pudding impulse and, since I succumb to most impulses, I took out one slightly yellowed box of French Vanilla Pudding (JELLO style). Mindlessly, I added the two cups of liquid and watched the pudding for the recommended five minutes. To be sure it had completely solidified (or perhaps puddingified is a more accurate term) I waited six. The deliciousness of pudding is one of the few things that can be waited for.

I grabbed the glass container salivating, spoon in hand, barely able to control myself. Yet it did not jiggle gelatinously: no, it remained runny.

I put it in the refrigerator assuming that perhaps room temperature was interfering with the transformation process. The pudding might not perform well under pressure and be able to have a metamorphosis with anxious eyes. Fearing my mere presence might prevent the change, I went up to my room and listened to Otis Redding and composed a lighthearted e-mail. All the while, I imagined the delicious, even texture of the French Vanilla pudding which undoubtedly awaited me in the fridge.

Upon completion I rushed down the stairs as if it were Christmas morning. The chilled goodness would prove to be better than any toy conceivable to a five year old.

Yet to no avail, the pudding remained some oozing watery substance. Confused, I reread the package. Two cups. Wait five minutes. Pudding enjoyment should commence immediately after. Having followed all these steps, I stood in the kitchen bewildered. What cruel joke were the JELLO gods playing on me?

I had waited. I had waited past the five minutes, past even ten minutes: I had gone as far as waiting 30 minutes for the delectable substance. What satisfaction had I been granted? None.

Perhaps it needed more time. Like a relationship. I rushed up the stairs and buried my head beneath my pillow until I felt things had been. The weight of the world certainly was on my shoulders at that very moment.

Cautiously I creeped down the steps. I was going to make the pudding think I didn't care one way or the other if it had jellified. If it failed to complete its due course, I would indulge in its more attractive and delicious cousin: ice cream. Pudding is somewhat of the quirky child in the dairy product delectable family. Unlike ice cream or frozen yogurt, very few get excited about pudding. Although it has many redeemable qualities about it, in comparison to the perks of frozen dairy products, it holds not a candle in the very cold wind.

I opened the refrigerator: sure enough, it remained vile and incomplete. Upset, I rummaged through the trash once more. This time I meticulously read the package: milk, not water, must be added. Christ.