Not dipped in M&Ms. Not flecked
with coconut. Not a caramel apple
martini, cheesecake, or crumble.
A classic, as it’s now known,
a classic Granny Smith
caramel apple.
It’s a quiet high point of UD‘s
Rehoboth Beach stays. Her one
classic Granny Smith caramel
apple.
She felt ready for it today,
though it meant walking in
serious heat down the
boardwalk to Dolly’s and
then standing in line —
just for a minute,
but the heat was hellish —
and then convincing the
Belarussian woman
behind the counter that
the classic Granny Smith
without anything on it
was really what UD wanted.
And a bottled water.
Even in its clear plastic
bubble, the apple’s caramel
had begun to melt in the
sun.
On the way back to her apartment,
sipping the cold water and
swinging the bag holding the
apple, UD, from under her
wide-rim hat, thought This
really isn’t too bad. There’s
a breeze.
But she was happy to
be back in the air conditioning.
Mr UD was on the balcony,
reading, and gazing at the hot
beach and the blue umbrellas.
UD felt a little sad, looking
at the beach, because this
morning she’d watched twenty
or so lifeguards swim from
pretty far out in the ocean
to shore — one of their many
training exercises — and she
was rooting for a woman to
come in first but not only
did a woman not win but
all of the men got to shore
before any woman finished.
So the women were all losers
and this put UD in a bad
mood — made worse by
Mr UD‘s crowing.
What? You thought women
were stronger than men? You
thought that? You thought
that?
No. I guess what I thought
was that one freak woman out
there with enormous muscles
and brilliant strategic
instincts would come in first.
I settled myself by the view,
cracked open the caramel
apple container, and began
swatting away flies. Quite a
bit of the caramel stuck to
the plastic as I struggled to
get the apple out of its
holder, but this was fine,
because part of the pleasure
of eating the classic caramel
apple is scraping the pure
caramel out of the container
with your fingers.
I’ve now finished eating
the apple, which means
I’ve finished this post.