What happens is that you go apple tasting. Apple tasting! Whoever heard of such a thing! You’re swept away by the novelty of the experience and when you come to you find you’ve purchased a jar of apple butter, a handful of disgusting apple-cinnamon taffy, and a ten-pound bag of the most delicious apples you’ve ever had in your life.
It slowly dawns on you, however, that you can’t eat ten pounds of raw apples, even if they are made of melted halos and sunshine. You think a pie will get rid of a fair amount, but a pie only absorbs six or seven of the fifty-plus apples now in your kitchen. The child refuses the homemade apple sauce; the dog will only eat Fujis; the tortoise is sick of everything but broccoli. Okay, your husband ate one Splendor with brie. ONE. The responsibility of consuming the rest of these apples has fallen to you. Don’t think about your friend with the compost pile! Compost piles are for quitters.
Don’t give up hope. If anyone can figure out a way to muscle their way through eight pounds of apples before they go bad, it’s you.