Banterist

From New York, original humor writing & commentary by Brian Sack. Subject to all the flexible quality standards of internet self-publishing.

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eBay: Tiffany & Co. Glass Apple My Father Didn’t Want

There comes a time in every man’s life when his dad takes him aside and gives him a glass apple.
At least, I’m assuming there is, because that’s what my father did.
When your dad gives you a glass apple, you’re left with many questions. Who makes glass apples? Where did my father come to possess a glass apple? Why is he giving me a glass apple?
The answers are Tiffany’s, I Don’t Know and I Really Don’t Know, respectively.
There may be a tendency to think that the acquisition of a glass apple is one of life’s milestones – much like graduation, marriage and the birth of a child. But upon further reflection it just appears that my father had a glass apple and didn’t particularly want it around the house. So he gave it to me, his first-born son.
As I’ve mentioned, it’s a Tiffany’s glass apple, made by Germans. Is that special? I don’t know. I’ve read a lot of books, but I’ve never gleaned from any of them just who has the best glass apples. I still don’t know why they exist in the first place. They’re hardly practical. Useless in salads, not a cost-effective way to brown-nose a teacher, and if one struck Newton on the head we’d have been short one smart guy and his theory of gravity.
Obviously it’s unused, as far as glass apples go. It looks just like it did the day it was made, for whatever reason it was made.
For measurement purposes it’s about the same size as a healthy, conventional apple. It comes in the very same Tiffany & Company box my father handed to me the day I joined the ranks of the glass-appled.
I’ve thought long and hard about holding on to this and making it an heirloom. I’ve tried to picture sitting down with my son in 30 years and handing him a glass apple. Perhaps I’d create a handover ceremony of sorts, with music and incense. I’d wear a tuxedo and present the glass apple on a velvet pillow. And he’d cry and thank me and promise to uphold whatever values a glass apple might represent. Then I’d climb a mountain and will myself to death.
But I can’t do it. The glass apple has to go.
It would be my pleasure to sell you the aforementioned apple. No questions. No judgments. Just two consenting adults engaging in a perfectly legal transaction centered around see-through fruit.
Please, buy this glass apple.

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