I'm sitting here as I do every day, watching the students pass me by and go for the ice cream machine or the cookies, barely even noticing my presence. I wish someone would love me, or at least be sick enough to give me a second look. My lime green brothers are having an even harder time than I am, as they were made into the least attractive of the bunch. It's true, no one really does like the green. I am a red bowl of jiggles and I still can't make friends. Everyone is supposed to love the red.

No, sir. Not me.

"Hey!" I shout as a girl passes by during the lunch rush. She does not hear me, for she has only heard the calls of the key lime pie slices beneath me. They get all of the ladies. Maybe I just have to wait for the afternoon lull to come. Maybe people will be more willing to pick me up if they don't feel the pressure of others looking down upon them for not choosing the cinnamon buns or puff pastries.

Perhaps society has given a negative connotation to jello, but there is nothing wrong with me. People are trained to want the sweeter, less healthy option. I am so simple. What I want is simple. I want people to love me. People will only consider lifting me out of my case if I am dressed up in off-brand Cool Whip. They only want me for my whipped topping; they don't want me for who I truly am. Once they eat my only attractive feature, they throw me away and I come back and do the same thing tomorrow - if I'm lucky enough to get dressed up in the morning when they put me out in the dessert case.

Being a cup of colored garbage is a struggle. Should I even set each morning? I am just going to sit in the case and offer my love to every suitable dessert-lover that passes me by, but they won't pick me. They want the cookies. Well, we're not all cookies or ice cream.

Some of us are just Jello. And that's okay.