Why I don't like apples on road trips

I remember the many road trips to Utah in the back of Grandma and Grandpa's itsy bitsy diesel rabbit. Grandma and I were crammed into the back seat which was more adequate for the luggage than humans.

On these trips I remember absolutely never stopping for anything but gas and an occasional rest stop because they were free. We never ever I mean NEVER stopped for a bite to eat, to stretch our legs, or a site to see.

Grandma always managed to make sandwiches and cram them into an old shoe box. It was enough to sustain us until we made it to the nearest relative's who would take pity upon us and give us food.

One of these many memorable trips, I remember being crammed in the compartment behind Grandpa, who was driving. With Grandma sitting next to me because my oldest brother Brent needed the front seat (a very kind and sacrificial act).

It was meal time and Grandma was handing out what she claimed to be sandwiches, we had to take her word for it because it looked more like glob to me. I, being the youngest and smallest, received only a quarter of a sandwich while Brent got at least 3 whole sandwiches to himself. Although I was hungry, I remember being grateful for once to be the youngest.

Then she handed out apples that once bitten into had the texture of applesauce, they were so bruised and softened with age. She order Grandpa Harold to eat up and then turning to me she whispered that apples make Grandpa vomit (her word exactly).

To Grandma throw up was vomit, you reared a child not raised (that is what you did with cattle), and #2 was stool. I am laughing at how gross and overly graphic this is but I HAVE to write this. It was just so Grandma. My apologies! Aunt Effie told me I had to write it as it was or it just would not be as interesting. To Aunt Effie's defense I doubt she thought I would ever be so crude as to write those "potty" words.

In the next existence, when we will view our life I will be especially interested in seeing the facial expression upon my 8 year old face after hearing Grandma's whisper. You see there are few in this world that probably detest throw up more than I . In fact I was so bad that my mom and sister wondered how I would ever handle being a mom.

My darling sister would get me to do anything she wanted me to do just by making the gagging noise. Although I knew perfectly well that she was faking it and doing it so I would obey her, I DID NOT CARE! I would jump up and do her bidding every single time just to get her to stop.

Oh how that noise made my stomach turn and I KNEW they were fake. Once I remember her fake gagging herself on my bed so that I would walk all the way to the kitchen to get her a glass of water (which was a daily occurrence-finally I am getting my revenge Mechelle), except this time she misjudge with her fingers down her throat and in fact made herself throw up. I don't think I had ever been so mad at her in my life, for throwing up on MY bed!!!

Now that you have a glimpse of how much I utterly and completely can not stand throw up, you may have a partial idea as to what my face would have looked like.

I remember thinking, actually yelling at the top of my thoughts, "WOMAN, WHY ARE YOU GIVING HIM AN APPLE THEN?" However, being the exceptionally well trained child that I was, I said not a word, pure miracle!

I did however pick up all my belongings and piled them up high on my lap. I also lifted my legs off the floor of the car because I was quite sure that if Grandpa did exactly as Grandma said, it would fall on the floor of the car and it would slide on back to where I was sitting.

I was horrified for the remainder of the 16 hour drive. Now as I look back over all those trips, I wonder why I was ever willing to go on them. I guess I was willing to so I could see my Aunt Effie!