The Apples

As I walk along the path to the castle, the trees bend down and offer me some apples.
“They are juicy and ripe,” say the trees. “We’d hate for them to go to waste.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m allergic to apples.”
Insulted, the trees turn their backs to the path.
“I could juggle them if you’d like,” I say.
The trees are shocked. “How would you like it if we asked if we could juggle your babies?” they ask.
“But you offered to let me eat them,” I said.
“That’s different,” they say, and I walk in uncomfortable silence.