The Apricot Apocalypse

And He shall rain down apricots upon the land. And lo, it shall be a total fucking disaster.

That tree! That damn tree! Sorry, I know. Two curse words in a post already, but let me tell you. It’s probably just going to get worse from here. It may get so bad that the whole thing will just turn into really bad porn where the pizza delivery guy shows up and makes a horrible joke about sausage.

(Does that happen in porn? Because as a former Mormon I’m still worried about losing my planet and have never watched any.)

The apricot tree has been teasing me for weeks now, and then BOOM. Over the weekend it announced that it was going to drop four hundred thousand ripe apricots whether or not I was prepared to handle it. We’ve been treating it for blight for the past two years, and I think it’s so happy that someone is paying attention to it that the apricots have tripled in size. So, yes, it IS happy to see you! I TOLD YOU. It’s all downhill from here.

Marlo and I spent a good half hour on Saturday morning picking… oh wait. I should probably mention that I sprained my ankle at the gym on Friday morning. It was just a simple jumping exercise, and I landed on my left foot the wrong way. I may or may not have heard something snap, can we just not talk about that part? Okay, good. Anyway. I fell to the floor in excruciating pain, and after my trainer iced it a bit I put on my shoe and drove home. It’s swollen, no discoloration. I can walk. If I think about it more than this paragraph IT WILL DO ME IN.

Universe. Seriously, you need to get laid. I know a guy who delivers pizza.

The only reason I brought up the ankle in the first place was to explain why I could only reach a certain branch of the tree. No way I could balance on a ladder, and no way I was going to break out a ladder in front of Marlo ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND. It would be safer to put a knife in her left hand and a loaded gun in her other. And then tell her to juggle. In the middle of a Walmart.

So that one branch. Like, a gazillion apricots. It filled four enormous bowls to overflowing. I’d pull one off the tree, hand it to Marlo and then remind her not to put it into her mouth. The first two? Fine. Yummy, yummy apricots. But she was going to take a bite out of every single one. So if you were watching this whole process go down you’d have heard nothing but me shouting, “NUH UH! NUH UHHHH! NUUUHHHH UUUHHH!

Because saying the words, “Stop biting the apricots,” was too much work.

That one branch. That’s all I could reach on my own. Some of you wonder why I live in Utah when as a blogger I could live anywhere as long as I have access to the Internet. Yeah, the scenery is breathtaking and the cost of living blah blah blah. The truth? I live here because my stepfather and my sister’s twins can pick apricots.