There sits, atop our coffee table, a forlorn bowl of jelly beans. Colorless, these are the rejects. The orange were first to go, even before the bowl made it to the table. My wife's favorites, she segregated them straight from the bag and hid them in her private "stash." Red and yellow soon followed. Too bright to avoid notice, our small group scarfed them down on Sunday night. Green is gone. Even purple (yuck) is absent.
All that is left are black and white. They'll stay there until a new bag is bought. Then, rejected, they'll be tossed in the trash never to be eaten.
Sometimes I feel like a jelly bean reject.