Before social media influencers were sharing their wellness journeys, I was deep into my Weight Watchers routine. I loved that I could still indulge in treats while keeping my diet on track. I fancied myself a master of stealthy snack selection, expertly navigating the aisles for guilt-free goodies. But one fateful day, my expertise backfired in a most explosive way.
Picture this: it was a radiant summer Friday, and I was set to leave my job in publishing at 1 p.m. After a week of sticking to my diet, I decided to pop into a local drugstore for some candy reconnaissance. There they were: Jelly Belly Sugar-Free Sours. I flipped the bag over and saw it was a mere 200 calories for the whole bag, which translated to just a few Weight Watchers points. “Perfect!” I thought, and without hesitation, I devoured the entire bag at my desk. (Yes, at 9:30 a.m. Don’t judge!)
It wasn’t until I reached for the empty bag to enter the info into my Weight Watchers tracker that I spotted it—a small red box on the back that read: “WARNING: CONSUMPTION MAY CAUSE STOMACH DISCOMFORT AND/OR LAXATIVE EFFECT. INDIVIDUAL TOLERANCE WILL VARY; WE SUGGEST STARTING WITH 8 BEANS OR LESS.” Wait, what? Eight jelly beans? Who eats just eight? I had polished off about seventy. Yes, seventy. That’s roughly ten times the suggested serving.
I should’ve paid more attention to that warning. Frankly, if they were being honest, they might as well have labeled the candy “ass grenades” and added a disclaimer: “Prepare for an urgent bathroom situation.” The sugar alcohol they use instead of real sugar can wreak havoc on your insides. I was horrified to learn I wasn’t alone; the internet was rife with tales from unfortunate souls who had made the same mistake.
As I glanced at the clock, it was 11 a.m., and I had a train to catch at 1:30. I have a serious aversion to using public restrooms, especially at work. Briefly, I contemplated inducing a purge to alleviate my fate, but that’s just not how I roll. I figured if I could handle Taco Bell’s infamous refried beans, surely I could survive some sugar-free jelly beans, right?
Fast forward to 1 p.m.—still no bathroom urgency. I left the office feeling optimistic. But as the train pulled away from Penn Station, my optimism quickly faded into dread. My stomach began a symphony of gurgles and pops, and I realized I was in deep trouble. With each passing minute, I felt the situation escalate to “CODE BROWN.”
I attempted to maintain my composure, but the train ride turned into a race against time. It felt like a flushing toilet was brewing in my belly. I clamped down with all my might, praying to avoid a disaster. I made all sorts of promises to a higher power; it felt like a scene from a comedy.
Finally, the train rolled into my station, and I spotted my husband revving the engine like a getaway driver. There was no time to lose. I darted into the house, and somehow, I made it—just in the nick of time. The experience left me feeling both victorious and slightly traumatized.
Since that day, I’ve learned to scrutinize warning labels like a hawk. I even joke with friends about using these jelly beans as a colon cleanse before a big event. If you’re looking for a more pleasant way to prepare for a colonoscopy, I highly recommend these instead of that dreadful prep drink.
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In conclusion, while sugar-free treats might seem like a guilt-free indulgence, proceed with caution. Your digestive system may not appreciate the excess.
Keyphrase: Sugar-Free Jelly Beans Warning
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