Bad apples.

I had an extensive conversation with my roommate Heather a few days ago over our feelings toward apples. Heather had recently made the decision to ditch them altogether, instead sticking with oranges, which are entirely more reliable. I on the other hand am an apple loyalist, refusing to believe that the bad apples outnumber the good. But man, when an apple is bad (and I'm unfortunately not speaking metaphorically - I am indeed talking about the fruit itself), it is really bad, and it can ruin your day. I recently stumbled upon a bag of Braeburns purchased from the Jewel near my apartment, and so far I am 0 for 3. Every day at Apple Time (approximately 1:15 p.m.), I reach for it in the fridge with the hope that this one will be the one that keeps me believing. And then the first bite tastes like a sandbox, but I keep going. And then the second bite tastes like florist's foam, and then any subsequent bites taste like pure masochism.

The last time I had a genuinely good apple experience was when I lived in Bucktown and bought my produce at Olivia's. The slightly elevated price was the premium I paid for not wanting to throw up in the microwave every day at 1:16. As for this batch, I'm done. The remaining Braeburn will be left in the refrigerator for the next six months before either evaporating or being thrown into the neighbor's compost heap (garden?). I then will give apples one more collective chance to impress the shit out of me. After that, I will join Heather on the Orange Team and only look back if I lose my health insurance and have to adopt the "keeping the doctor away" adage. But then, and only then.