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Now I'm sure many of you have thought about what it would be like to become a gargantuan blueberry and get rolled off into the juicing room by a handful of Oompa Loompas, but have you ever considered what would happen afterwards?

Picture this. You've been drained completely of your juices, save for a bit of leftover juice that leaves a blue tint on your skin that you were told would wash away within the span of a few days. It all happened so fast. Wonka, the Loompas, the candy, the gum, the juicing process. You get home exhausted and flop onto the bed, still in your stretched out, wet clothes, which are in desperate need of a wash. Being a blueberry is the worst. It's a horrid and embarrassing feeling, having all those eyes on you watching you in your predicament. You'd never want to chew gum or eat blueberry pie ever again after what you just went through. You VOW to never again touch a berry or a berry-flavored treat in your life.

That night, you wake up from a nightmare. You were being rolled around and teased by the Oompa Loompas, Wonka, and the other factory guests. It was so humiliating, but thank god it was just a dream. You walk down to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water, stumbling across the bottle of blueberry juice in the fridge you forgot you got from the store the other day. You stare at the bottle. Your mouth begins to salivate and you begin to sweat as if on cue. Blueberries are disgusting. Never again will you eat or drink that damn fruit...but the thirst for it grows. The plain, boring glass of water doesn't seem as cold and refreshing as the juicy, mouthwatering blueberry juice that's staring you down. You dump the water and instead grab the bottle of berry juice and pour yourself a glass before sleeping soundly in bed.

You wake up the next morning to see the blue on your skin is fading, but it's still present. You have plans to go to brunch with a few of your friends, and you're in the closet struggling to decide an outfit. A white t-shirt and jeans? No. A black tank top and short shorts? No. An orange polo with cargo pants. Why do you even have that? Everything looks ridiculous on you, except for one outfit. Your blue tracksuit. Blue is definitely your color. For an odd reason, you feel drawn to what you wore yesterday at the factory: the blue button up with blue pants with the red belt around your waist. Unfortunately, the clothes are currently in the laundry. This'll do.

You and your friends have an interesting time at brunch. They know about what happened to you at the factory, but it happened and they try and push the conversation away to not make you uncomfortable; however, for an odd reason, you find yourself butting into their conversations to talk about how much you "hated" it. What that "dumb" juicing room was like, how many "lame" Oompa Loompas had to roll your fat ass, how many "disgusting" gallons you think you filled up with, how "stupidly" delicious the gum was. You obnoxiously smack on some bubblegum and blow a couple bubbles as you chat. It's almost like you wanted all the attention on you and what happened to you. That wasn't usually like you. You hate attention, but for some reason, all you wanted to chat about was your blueberrification. It set up a bit of a tent in your lap whenever you heard the word "blueberry", which your buddy next to you definitely noticed before you did. When the food arrives, you take your gum and stick it behind your ear to chew for later as your friends watch in disgust and confusion.

Brunch was good! All your friends ordered eggs on toast with mimosas while you ordered a nice slice of blueberry pie with a dollop of sweet whipped cream on the top and a blueberry spritz to wash it down, thinking nothing of it. You go home and think more about the factory, daydreaming almost, and look at your skin in the mirror, noticing that the blue still isn't fading away. In fact it's getting stronger, but despite what you said yesterday, you're not upset. It goes with your outfit and blue, again, is your color.

Weeks begin to pass. Your fridge is now stuffed with nothing but blueberry juice bottles and blueberry pies from the grocery store, eating and drinking blueberries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You threw all your old clothes away because you hated how they looked on you now and went shopping for some cute blue outfits at the mall. You order more and more of those mouthwatering blueberry cocktails when you go out with your friends and continue directing conversations about that day at the factory, shamelessly letting them get annoyed with you. You continue having those nightmares about becoming a blueberry and getting rolled around and teased; however, you no longer wake up in a cold sweat. You sleep like a baby during those dreams. They're comforting to you. But most importantly, your skin went back to how it was: blue. A nice royal blue from head to toe caused by the complete diet change.

You seemed bright and happy, but unfortunately for you, you still felt lost. You still felt incomplete. You still didn't necessarily feel like you. The blueberry cocktails and the blueberry pies from the grocery store wasn't enough to satisfy a specific craving you had within you. You look at yourself in the mirror, seeing the blue skin on your face, yet still not feeling right. This isn't what you're supposed to be. This isn't who you are. And suddenly it hits you.

The factory. It's your home. They should've never let you leave after getting juiced. You were never supposed to even get juiced. You're a blueberry. It's what you were always meant to be. Sure, you hated it at first but you've learned to love your story, considering you made it your entire personality and never wanted to shut up about it. You miss the delicious three-course gum that you obnoxiously chomped on in delight. You miss the way your belly made it impossible to see your toes. You miss the way your hips would bonk into the machinery and items and knock things over. You miss the way your ass cheeks would bounce and clap from even the slightest baby step. You miss your outfit, and how you got so big your red belt exploded off of you to make more room for your swelling. You miss the immobility and being filled with so much juice that you couldn't even move. You miss the way the Oompa Loompas would roll you and tease you and sing that little embarrassing tune. You miss all the eyes of the other tour guests on you, watching it all happen before their very eyes. You miss the juicing room. You miss Wonka. You miss the factory. You miss it all. And you need to go back. Maybe, you can become a blueberry juice keg for all of Wonka's blueberry-flavored sweet treats and get paid doing it. Oh, screw that, you'd love it so much you'll work for free. You need to make things right again.

And with that said, you buy yourself a one-way ticket, your new "golden ticket", and never look back again.

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