It’s been a pretty tense couple of days here in the southern apple fields. I tried to do a little bit to ease some of the tension today by convincing Butter Boy to eat a Timbit (yes, he managed to finish exactly one), and then letting the rest of the global group think that the Timbit box was something he had brought in to cheer them up. Seems to have worked, though he was getting a few odd questions, including being asked why there were no celery-flavored ones (okay, that’s a new one).

About an hour or so later, I so wanted to live the Dry Idea tagline when I received a phone call specifically requesting that I present myself in person to provide some important clarification (uh oh…). Well, this isn’t good. I brace myself for the worst, lock in a little smile to suppress the gag reflex before walking over, and then open the door to find myself face to face with three very senior people with very stern expressions, all looking balefully at me from where they’re seated.

They’re not smiling.

At this point, the little hairs on the back of my neck are standing straight up and all those wondrous adrenalin-related thoughts are rushing through my mind:

“Am I stressed? Yes, I’m stressed.”

“Dead man walking here.”

“What did I do now?”

“Do I smell funny?”

“Am I about to have an unforeseen Star Trek-esque reboot?”

“Is this where I come face to face with the Universal Oneness?”

Oh no.

It’s worse.

I’m invited to sit down to provide this important clarification:

“Why is the Golden Delicious apple ideally suited for making tarte tatin?”

This here is a photo of Rod Serling. He’s reaching out from the grave to jerk my proverbial chain. Probably laughing hysterically too.

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