They're part of my new year's resolution to start a post holiday decorating tradition. As in I've decided to institute an unexpected post holiday decorating touch, starting this year. I bought my apples at yet another of the many divine boutiques in the town near us. When I first saw them I thought they were wax apples -- which they are and they aren't.
The owner of the boutique explained she found them at a small supplier and she too fell in love with them. I asked her how long they would survive. She said she had no idea, noting that real pommes shrivel up and ultimately rot away. Will that happen to these or will they be protected by the wax?
"I really don't know," she said.
"Could you find out maybe?" I asked.
"I'll try," she said.
I'll let you know.
Tomorrow I'll tell you about happiness from the French point of view. And, curiously, even with such natural resources as wine, champagne (yes, I know champagne is wine), cheese, perfume, sublime lingerie, and silver apples, they're not that happy.
A demain mes trés, trés, trés chers amis.