Picky, Picky

The other day, my father suggested a family trip. He thought we should all go apple picking. It's something we used to do when I was young and he wanted the kids to experience it. I can see the girl getting into it, she's the outdoorsy type (God knows where she got that from); but the boy? Maybe if it were a Gameboy Advance game. He's not into nature, unless it's on a 2" screen. Throw Mario and Luigi into it and you've got his attention for sure. But I was all up for it. I'm into the family thing. Then I remembered, it's too late in the season for apple picking so that idea was nixed. I also remembered the last apple picking trip we went on.

Oh, it was so long ago... I might've been about 9 or 10 or so. My cousin, Den (I mentioned him Tales from the Pond), went with us. He always went on trips with us...everywhere. His mom was my father's twin sister and when she got divorced, my father took over the fathering role sorta. We were practically raised like brother and sister in a two family house. My aunt, cousin and grandmother on my father's side got the upstairs and my parents and I were downstairs. But he was downstairs more than up. My aunt was on the mean side. Couldn't blame the guy.

Back to the apple picking trip. It was an annual thing for us. We'd pick tons of apples, pay an outrageous amount for them, grab some cider, and spend the rest of the blasted month thinking of ways to cook, bake and, generally, eat apples. It got to be difficult after a while. Even now, I have to really crave apple pie to eat it and I almost never crave apple pie.

So we set off. I make perperations because I get car sick. I almost never puke and when I do I give advanced notice. But I always liked to be careful about that sort of thing. I'd take my Dramamine, bring bags, grab lemon drops or some other candy, etc. My cousin, the one who actually did tend to puke without warning, never prepared. He'd vehemently deny that he was the puker. I carried perfume because I knew what would happen.

We're driving for what seems an extraordinary length of time when we (my mom, cousin, and I) start to wonder if we're lost. My father is sure we're on the right track, though. After another hour, even he has to agree: we're so lost. We start looking for a gas station or something to ask for directions. There are none. Then I start to notice the buggies. You know, the horse-drawn carriages. The people eye our car warily, we eye the people warily. I ask my mom if they're Amish or what. She's unsure. We drive some more.

Suddenly, without warning, my cousin begins to heave. He just sits there and pukes all over himself and the car. I'm shoving a bag at him and he just keeps puking. The moron. I swat him on the arm and yell at him, "The bag! You're supposed to puke in the bag!!" My father starts yelling at the both of us while glaring at us in the rear view mirror. Because he's so intent on us, he's swearving all over the road. My mom's yelling at my father to watch the goddamn road, dammit. My mom never swears, so this is a shock. My cousin and I do the whole "Ooooh!" thing like you do when your friend is sent to the principal's office. My mom gives us a dirty look. I start gagging from the smell. I crank open the window and shove my head out. My father yells at me to shut the window, it's cold. I say that I'd rather freeze than smell that. He pulls over so we can clean my cousin up. My bags came in handy after all.

He still stinks, though. So I've got my perfume. I inconspicuously spray him. He rats me out, the little (I don't care if he is 3 years older, he's always been "little") brat. I have the window open a crack and my nose is shoved through that crack. He's shivering and moaning. He puked all over his coat so it's in one of the bags, and he's still feeling pukey but he won't take a Dramamine. And we're still lost. We're driving and driving and I know we're all thinking "worst road trip....ever!" Eventually we find a gas station, get directions, and go home.

Screw the apples.