For a holiday when I was in college a friend invited a few of us to her grandparents’ to spend the weekend. I was sitting at the table in the kitchen visiting with the grandmother. She mentioned that they were enjoying the apples from their tree in the back yard. Well, I pulled out my apple story and began telling her all about it.
When I was in grade school, my dad came home from a trip to Arkansas with six bushels of apples that had been given to him. I remember feeling very Little House on the Prarie-ish because we all got to stay home from school and spend an entire day with all of us working to peel, cut, slice, bag, and freeze all those apples. I thought it was great fun. The only problem was that I didn’t really care much for apple pie. My mom made apple pies galore for years–literally. I ended my story with, “It got to where I didn’t care if I ever saw an apple pie. I still don’t like them.”
Then I just happened to notice for the first time what she was doing while we visited in the kitchen. She was MAKING AN APPLE PIE! How embarrassing! I apologized profusely, but really, the damage was done. There wasn’t that much I could say.
Well, after that I felt like this couple really did not like me very well, not that I blamed them! As luck would have it, I later dated their grandson. Again for a holiday, he wanted me to drive to his grandparents’ for a day’s visit. I really did not want to go. I told him that they didn’t like me. He laughed and said he didn’t believe that at all and that he would ask them. A couple of days later he told me that he had, in fact, asked his grandmother if they liked me. Her response? “Well, it doesn’t really matter what we think. What matters is whether you like her or not!”
This post is linked to Memory Lane Wednesdays.