#3 Mealy Apples

I love red delicious apples.  There's nothing better than biting into a crisp, sweet apple and feeling the succulent juices fill your mouth with intense flavour.  I would eat several every day if not for the inch-thick coating of artificial wax and pesticide residue.  I think if I was sentenced to death I would ask for a red delicious apple as my final meal.  On second thought, I would eat a box of sodium bicarbonate to counteract the imminent lethal injection of potassium chloride.  If that didn't work at least I wouldn't have heartburn.  But I digress.

There is nothing more disappointing in this life than bringing one of those beautiful fruits to your lips and biting not into a crunchy state of bliss, but a soft, mushy state of pure rage.  There's no preparing yourself for it.  You pick up the apple, it feels firm in your hands, the peel is glistening, but underneath that deceitful exterior is a disgusting, brownish fibrous mess just waiting to invade your mouth with its dry, powdery texture.  As you bite into the apple you are initially shocked by the realization that this is not the comfortable old friend you expected to tantalize your taste buds.  This state of disbelief quickly turns into anger - anger towards the apple itself, the store you bought it from, the farmer who grew it, the scientists who genetically modified it.  You could throw away the apple at this point, but oh no, you continue to eat it out of pure spite.  You take bite after bite of the apple from hell, grimacing as you contemplate its boiled potato-like consistency.  At some point in the process, anger turns into depression, since you know deep down that each subsequent bite will taste worse than the last, even though you hope against hope that maybe there is a morsel of sweet crispness hidden somewhere near its stalk or base.

Eating one of these horrible apples completely ruins my day.  After I consume one of those damnations I like to keep the ball rolling by scheduling in a little root canal, followed by playing with my kids until one of them unwittingly kicks me in the crotch, and topping it all off by taking my wife out to a chick flick.  At the end of the day I can still say the worst thing that happened to me was eating a mealy apple.  It's all relative.

Mealy or not mealy?  Go ahead, take a bite.