Kryptonite is to Superman as apple pie is to Aja. I hate those perfectly sliced apples and that stupid homemade pie crust. I despise that mouth watering smell coming from the kitchen as my flesh turns pale.
“Aja, I made apple pie especially for you!” The eerie happiness in her voice makes my stomach cringe. She smiles as I approach the table, my eyes widen with fury and excitement.
One plate. One fork. One piece of apple pie. She leaves the kitchen to watch television. I’m all alone. Glaring through its soft, perfectly toasted crust, it grins as if to say “I win again.” Palms sweaty, knees shaking, I can’t give in, I remind myself. Sitting in the chair in front of the pie, I inhale. The sweet aroma lingers in my nose, teasing my senses. Those apples are pure evil. My hands form into fists of rage. My strength is fading. “Stop it!” I scream inside my head. The agonizing torture drags on. Voices echo amongst my thoughts: “Give up before it’s too late.” “You will never win.” “You can’t resist!”
I perspire as I ponder the possibilities. Option one: I run away. Option two: I annihilate the pie. Option three: I eat! Persuasion takes effect and my thoughts slowly change. “I hate apple pie.” “I dislike apple pie.” “I like apple pie.” “I love apple pie!” Uh-oh! Faster than a speeding bullet my right hand seizes the fork and stuffs my mouth with my heart’s true desire. Still warm and moist, I am in no mood for small morsels. I begin to eat larger pieces until it was gone.
One plate. One fork. No pie. The pie was right. It did win again. I will always lose as long as kryptonite is to superman, than apple pie is to Aja.