Metamucil Fiber-Sure, For Sure

New Girl here – writing reviews. Guess the editorial board doesn’t know if I can write for shit, which explains why they selected me to test the Metamucil Fiber-Sure.

After a long week, I arrive home on Friday afternoon to find a big square box sitting on my entry table along with a few bills, a thank you note and a wedding invitation. Delight courses through my system as I imagine what treasure lies inside the box.

Daintily opening the box so as not to disturb the breakable porcelain or the fine silk or the rare art, I peer into the box to find a container of Metamucil Fiber-Sure. Not quite the pleasure I had in mind, but I’m the first to make lemonade out of lemons – or at least margaritas out of Fiber-Sure.

I grind ice for two delectable prickly pear margaritas and spike them with Fiber-Sure. Fibersurely, my husband will appreciate the fact that I have added a little extra fiber to his diet. He can always count on me to think of his health. After all, I am the family doctor.

The label on the Fiber-Sure tells me that the product will have no flavor nor will it color my food. No lie there! Having a couple of margaritas laced with Fiber-Sure, my husband was never the wiser that he was slowly being filled with fiber. Truly, Fiber-Sure has no taste nor color.

However, later in the evening when I added the Fiber-Sure to a glass of water and then to juice, the Fiber-Sure coagulated into a gloopy white mass that looked very unappetizing. When the white goo met my tongue it didn’t taste bad, but it evoked the age-old dilemma of swallowing or spitting.

After a hard night of swilling Fiber-Sure, the next morning I was awakened early as if there were a knock at the door. One would assume that after ingesting copious amounts of fiber that one could safely assume a certain outcome. Nope. No outcome – but there was an incredible amount of gas and bloating. I felt like I needed to buy larger clothes. Perhaps, I thought, Fiber-Sure needs a few days to build up before achieving its optimum results.

Onward.

Saturday morning finds me whipping up pancakes for the family. Why not sprinkle a little Fiber-Sure in the batter? No flavor. No color. Nobody will know. The children eagerly eat the pancakes and ask for more.

Later in the day my four-year old has an accident. Not a full-fledged accident, but what my husband might call a greaser. I don’t make the connection of my son’s juicy expulsion until the second time (or was it the third?) that his new propensity to squeeze out wet stinkers might be correlated with the fact he ate Fiber-Sure pancakes for breakfast. My Ricky Ricardo husband would not want to hear that Lucy dosed the baby with unneeded fiber.

Several pairs of dirty underwear later, I still don’t fess-up. (Really, you don’t my husband – he wouldn’t understand. He’s an i-dotting, t-crossing lawyer, who collects Ph.D’s as a hobby. He revels in his compulsions and eschews extra work generated from mistakes - like changing underwear and washing additional clothes.) The hubby concludes that the family must have some sort of bug that is creating problematic potty troubles for us all. Yeah, I agree…there must be a bug in the house.

After giving Fiber-Sure three full days – just me, I quit secretly dosing the family – I never got to the point that I didn’t feel like someone had given me a helium enema, and I was about to float into the big blue sky.

Did others notice I looked like the Goodyear blimp? I don’t know but the cure was simple. I stopped taking Fiber-Sure and resumed my normal life.