Green With Envy

I glare across the counter from my spot nestled between the folds of the brown paper bag. Stupid Gala is doing that thing again, as she has every single day, for the past, I don’t know, week? I swear, every day, just as the sunshine is pouring in through the window, Gala just has to sparkle and reflect light in every single direction, and those big giants just have to exclaim “Ooh, look at that one! That’s one perfect apple! It’s too pretty to eat!” I don’t mean to sound so bitter, but I’m just sick of it. What do those big giant guys say about me? Well, they call me “controversial” and then have in depth discussions about how I hurt their teeth, or how I give them something called “reflux”. I mean, give me a break. It’s one thing that all the other apples get to have the same trendy, red, peel and I don’t, but loudly calling me “sour”? Now that’s just harsh.