Don’t worry, it’s a short test, but it’s graded on a pass/fail. Did you know this test has a scientific origin from the 14th century? Back then, I doubt people had the time to use it for the purpose we typically wield it with today. It all started from a compound called lichen which is like a fungus that grows on rocks or trees. A mixture of lichen ook turns either red in acid solutions or blue in alkaline solutions. So a cool sciencey thing. In addition to that, we use it as a test for character.
I will not touch the obvious, wildly politically divisive, elephant in the room, although it is an effective use of the litmus. No. I will stick to my old test which I have recently modified. Unfortunately, half of the two-question test can only be conducted in person. So that rules out me judging almost all of you. Most of you who know me have already taken the first part of the test, but like I said, I’m adding an addendum.
The first—and previously only—question on my litmus test was whether or not you liked Uga Muga’s Dip. My grandmother from Sweden, lovingly called Uga Muga, made a special dip, which has been served throughout my life. It’s one of the better memories of my growing-up years. My mother used to make The Dip every Sunday. We’d lie around the pool and come inside occasionally to read the National Enquirer and eat The Dip. We’d gorge ourselves on it and feel sick to our stomachs when it was time for dinner. On each occasion, my mother would threaten us she’d never make it again if we continued to ruin her dinners, but then, every Sunday, we all breathed easier when we opened the fridge, and there it was.
After I had children, I spread the love of The Dip and made it for my daughter and her friends. I’d knowingly smile with delight when the requests came in to have The Dip ready by not only my daughter, but by her friends. I became synonymous with The Dip. When I’d enter a room, people would light up on the off chance I came with The Dip. I made the requested batches many times for graduation parties and presented it with the recipe card. I am a pusher of The Dip. One sweet girl even made a bowl for me with the name, The Dip, proudly painted on the side.
You’re dying to know what’s in it. Aren’t you? I will tell you. But here’s my test. If you don’t like it, I will not like you. It’s a tricky system of character evaluation, and I worry about my relationship status to those who have failed, but oddly, I can only think of a few people who have not taken to The Dip like animals. It’s got four ingredients. Do not modify it. Philadelphia Cream Cheese, sugar, scallions, and milk. Serve it with a strong ruffled potato chip. It’s a salty/sweet combo of heaven. (For each brick, I usually throw in a handful of scallions, three tablespoons of sugar and milk for texture. Keep it thick. You’re welcome for the recipe. Just give Uga Muga credit.)
Now to my addendum. There are people who like The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and those who do not. I adore it. So, choose your team now, but choose wisely. I haven’t figured out how to categorize those people who don’t like it. You’re an odd specimen. Like lichen. If you also failed The Dip test, there is no hope for us. And Scott, my dear brother-in-law, you’re not going to use this as get-out-of-jail free card. We’re related. You’re stuck with me.