Fall Is Wonderful Unless You’re An Apple-Hands-Man Like Me
Gosh, there certainly is a lot to love about fall! I can definitely see why it’s so many people’s favorite season. Fall is loaded with cozy scents, colorful leaves, and festive holidays. And, of course, a bevy of apple-related activities. That last one is pretty unfortunate (at least for me). That’s because I am an apple-hands-man.
The doctors in the delivery room were baffled, as was every doctor I’ve seen since. Personally, I think it’s my mother’s fault; she ate so many apples when she was pregnant that she apparently often joked, “I eat so many apples, I bet he comes out with apples for hands!” But that’s neither here nor there. I am an apple-hands-man and nothing can change that.
Fall is but a living nightmare for an apple-hands-man. Going apple-picking upstate sounds like a blast, but there’s no way that I can pick apples off of trees when my hands are also apples and offer little in the way of grasping or dexterity. That one time I went was a total bummer because of that reason, and also because so many adorable young couples in matching plaid shirts tried to rip my hands off of my body. They thought my apple-hands were regular apples, and not, in fact, my hands.
The smell of apple pie sickens me. To me, it smells like burning flesh and singed hair. This makes sense because I am an apple-hands-man; a man with apples for hands.
I still have nightmares about that day in second grade when we took a field trip to an apple cider factory. The foreman wasn’t paying attention and reached down to grab an apple to toss into the cider-making machine. But it wasn’t an apple. It was one of my apple-hands. It cut my apple-hand down to the core. You could see seeds; there was juice everywhere.
The questions are perhaps the worst part of being an apple-hands man. No, Johnny Appleseed isn’t my father. No, I don’t “keep the doctor away.” No, I don’t have a favorite type of apple. They never appealed to me. Probably because I am an apple-hands man, and to eat an apple would feel like eating my own hand. Which is what I’m afraid would happen if I got a taste for apples.
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