Apple perfume can make life interesting. Especially in a red bottle shaped like an apple. Especially when the rear end of the girl holding the bottle, despite the jeans and frilly blue underwear distorting its shape, is far from being a so-called "apple bottom".
When you're at a point in this interesting life of yours, riding home in your roommate's car thinking, "Maybe I should make two small meals a day my norm..." thanks to the short walk to drunkeness that such a diet grants you, that's when it will hit you. You'll realize that your proficiency on a mobile QWERTY keyboard is comparable to your skill on the one sitting at home, and you'll think, "This is the fucking future. I'm living it." After which you will promptly remember that daddy-issues girl, though she may be your small-rumped dream bride, is probably going to get your ass kicked by her blissfully ignorant boyfriend when he realizes that he doesn't bite quite that hard.
So maybe you should lay off the texting, Romeo.
Or not.
There are worse things in life than infidelity. Fuck, kids are shooting wolves with AK's halfway across the world just so they can cook them for dinner that night or some shit. And here you are with your various chemical and psychological urges gratified, tack-tacking away in front of your information box and staring at the factory-generated apple pie stick from three days ago and thinking, "Should I eat that or just throw it in the trash?"
Life's pretty good, all things considered.
Sure that shithead dog downstairs with that round, fruit-shaped tumor on his side might come eat your sugary pie stick, but life goes on. Old Apple-side doesn't have it in for you, he's just looking to make life a little better for himself, just like you are.
That pie stick is his version of your non-apple-bottomed cutie, and you are the guy who has a previously established relationship with said pie stick. Sure he could have eaten the apple off of the counter downstairs, but this sweet, thin strip of delightfully packaged fruit is far more appetizing. Plus it's been obviously neglected for a while, and you can't let something like that go to waste. It's not some "forbidden fruit" matter. Fuck, there wasn't even a sign on it saying, "Hey dog, don't eat this shit. Fucking dibs."
Come on, a delicious convection rarity? Yes, of course you snatch it up in your teeth and prance back to the closet where you live to devour it. It's been eight or nine dog years since you had such a treat, and this one is a Granny Smith. This isn't your typical red, A-is-for-apple status quo. She's a "green delicious" as the northerners say, born from a breed of tree that produced a sweeter flavor and a cute Irish accent.
So sure, you don't want to smell like it all the time, but that apple scent can make life more interesting.
