“Waxy, not the kind that’s obvious, but the kind you find out after you’ve already taken a bite, and remains on your tongue, unyielding. A roundness that gives way to unexpected mealiness under your teeth. You spit it out, then throw it in the garbage where it makes a satisfying thud as it hits the bottom. It still had a sticker on it when you took a bite, what made you think it would be different from any of a thousand tasteless red apples you’ve subjected yourself to over the course of a lifetime? Who thinks of these things? Why hasn’t there been a Great Red Apple Uprising? There are many delicious apples out there, and none of them come from Jewel. You knew this but somehow the hum of the fluorescent lighting, the mist of the automatic spray machines, and the piped in recording of “singin’ in the rain” suckered you in, once again.”
From my friend Jessica Palmer who has recently started blogging at Buttered Noodles. I became an obsessive fan of her writing 15 years ago when we both lived in Chicago — she had a column in our local paper Babble. I can’t tell you how happy I am that she’s writing again and begged her to let me include this short entry here. I just love her and miss her writing terribly.