stay in the shallow end

I just spent nearly four hours in the back yard raking and bagging leaves. I finally finish up, drag the bags to the curb, and come inside and grab my laptop, a granny smith apple, and the paring knife and take a seat at the table. As I’m reading my email, I slice off a piece of apple and toss it in my mouth. The searing pain hit before I even finish my first chew.

I know a consequence of growing older is that novel experiences are fewer and further between. I’m only 27 though! I’d like to think that with most of my life still ahead of me, I’m not so jaded that I feel like the world has no more surprises for me.

Unfortunately, though, it appears that I am that jaded. I stared at that apple with the same incredulity I imagine I’d have if Blackjack were to get up on two legs and start talking to me about the stock market. I hesitantly sliced off another piece, and again, the wave of heat passed from my lips, to my tongue, and then the rest of my mouth.

At this point, I rack my brain for what could possibly be happening. I kicked up a lot of dust outside, so maybe I got something on my lips that reacted with something in the apple. Maybe the pesticides or wax used on this particular apple were new, and I have an unknown allergy to them. Maybe terrorists had infected our apple supply with a chemical weapon designed to target our pain receptors and leave innocent Americans tortured with pain for the rest of our lives.

Then it hit me: I’d used the same knife to cut some habaneros for a batch of chili I’d made, and I’d probably just wiped the knife off and put it back in the block. Touching the knife to my tongue confirmed my suspicions, and I was able to return to being my normal jaded self.