The trunk of my car functions as a combination storage unit / Dumpster. Still, nothing could prepare me for last week, when I was searching for a pair of heels and pulled out a tote bag from my best friend’s wedding in October. Pawing around in the bag for my shoes, my hand closed around something I didn’t initially recognize.
It was an apple.
“Was” being the key word, because this thing I was currently holding in my hand was in no way a part of the apple family, having morphed into some sort of shriveled hybrid fruit—part plum, part prune, full parts disgusting.
