Apples to Apples

Apples to Apples is one of my very favorite games ever, because it is hilarious. Real apples, however, are not hilarious.

Sitting in front of me is one such not-hilarious apple. It is a shiny light green thing, with a brown-red streak on one side (the side facing away from me, so I can pretend that this glaring imperfection doesn't exist), a twisted off stem (removed from the fruit by my nervous fingers this morning as I plucked the apple from the crate in the kitchen), and a slightly lopsided shape, which makes it look as though it is proudly pushing itself towards me in a plea for consumption. Sitting in front of me is a not-hilarious apple that is the absolute picture of fall. It makes me think of cider and orchards and pie and big leafy trees with bendy, weighed-down branches. Most importantly, this apple does NOT make me think about my nursing research paper that is due tomorrow. It is a beautiful lopsided not-hilarious apple. And, given that it is such a wonderful thing to look at (and blog about), it would surely be a shame to eat it. It is really a much better use of my time to look at it, and write about its skin (which has this speckle-thing going on--like you could peel it off, dye it blue, and wrap it around a robins egg) and shape and growing cycle and seeds and sheen and really, anything but its taste. I have no desire to write about the taste of the apple, because I really don't like apples.

I really don't like any plants that are good for you, actually (I could eat corn mixed with mashed potatoes for every meal, but I am told this is like topping starch with starch, which is not all that great for you). I do not eat them. It would have been useless and rediculous, when I was younger, for my parents to command me to sit at the table until all the green things on my plate were gone because I simply would have been there forever. I would still, as an 18 year old, be sitting there. I. Do not. Eat. Plants.

Despite this fact about me (the fact that I don't eat plants), I have good intentions. I picked up the apple from the kitchen, did I not? My rent was paid to the co-op this month, so I basically consented to the purchase of the apple. I am a nursing student. I understand that I NEED to eat plants (and that I might as well start with a speckle-skinned, lopsided, stemless, slightly-imperfect apple). So I'm trying. An apple has made it from the kitchen to my desk, and that is progress.

Here goes.

There. One bite. Despite the fact that it looks pretty, apple skin is gross.

I WILL EAT RABBIT FOOD.