An apple’s crunch is bigger than its bite. Especially the green ones that Granny likes to grow in her backyard. Granny Smith, that is. Grandma Jones doesn’t like apples, but she can bake one helluva cherry pie.
I don’t like apples much either. Raw apples anyway. Stewed and baked apples are okay. Applesauce used to be on the dinner table every time Ma cooked pork chops. I don’t know who thought apples should be served with meat. Seems kind of weird to me.
When I see someone bite into an apple, I cringe. It hurts my teeth. Makes them want to scream. The nerves tingle from the tart gravel scraping against enamel. I shudder at the sight of an apple. So shiny and round. Vermillion, lime green, pale yellow, and blushing pink. Innocent beauties beckoning with sweetness. Until they trap your mouth in a death grip and refuse to let go.
I’ve seen others lose teeth in apples. They’re a ruthless, savage fruit, dangerous to the core. Bad seeds don’t just come from anywhere, you know. People’s lives have been changed for the better, but mostly for the worst after a single bite. One crunch is all it takes. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away.
– Written by Miss A on November 4, 2012