Perhaps in the reddist Braeburn you’ve ever seen, the greenest Granny Smith you could ever imagine. You can suddenly see why Eve picked this fruit off of that forbidden tree. It has been patiently waiting for your consumption all day- maybe for that 3:00pm pick-me-up when that sweet, sugary goodness will jostle you awake.
Finally, it is time. You grasp that shining orb of flavor and give it a quick cleaning before the first bite. A quick shirt-shine will usually do, perhaps even a rinse under the faucet just to ensure no residue will spoil your moment of bliss. You bring it to your lips, your mind racing with thoughts of the sweet, crisp bite that is soon to be yours. Your ears prepare for what will be a deafening crack when you dislodge that first glistening chunk. Your teeth sink in to the marvelous morsel. Oh no. They are stuck. You are having to gnaw just to tear off that first bite. Nothing but mush. Mealy, yellow, tart, dry mush.