I Am a Garbage Digger

I love raspberries. They have replaced watermelon in my heart. There is still room for watermelon on my plate, but let me publicly declare:

I, BRANDY NICHOLE ROTH, LOVE RASPBERRIES ABOVE ALL OTHER FOOD.

While at the great money sucking store I call Costco, I saw a largish package of elegant, fragile, succulent raspberries, and though I'd already chosen pears and bananas and baby oranges, I wanted those raspberries for myself. Mmmmmm. 

When I got home, I allowed myself two, unwashed even, then I put them on the very top shelf of the fridge, that my evil, ever-hungry children would not devour them before I could savor their sweet-sweet loveliness. My raspberries.

Then I recaulked the master shower. I hate showering with blackish brown fuzz. And I like to caulk. Perhaps tomorrow I shall share my master caulking techniques, which makes the job so easy, even a girl can do it.

I was called to a attend delightful dinner of glorious ravioli, marinara sauce, spinach salad. "Oh," thought I, "Some raspberries would be a delightful accompaniment to this feast."

But when I looked in the fridge, MY BERRIES WERE GONE!!!!

"WHERE ARE MY RASPBERRIES?!" I demanded of my husband.

"They are gone."

"WHAT?? I just got them, they are NOT gone!"

"They fell on the floor."

"SO?!!! You wash them off and they are fine, what did you do with my raspberries, Greg." 

"I threw them away."

"WHAT?! NO! HOW COULD YOU... WHY?! NO!!!"

"They're still in the box."

Then there was some altercation between our children, my husband and myself, which resulted in a temporary schism where I made my husband mad and he went upstairs instead of eating. I was a jerk. But dangit ... HE THREW AWAY MY RASPBERRIES!!!!!!

I reached my hand into the garbage. Under a paper towel and some ravioli bits was my raspberry box, still nearly full. Giddy, I dragged them out, poured them in a colander, and rinsed them. Thoroughly.

They were fine. I shall eat them, every one. A gift from God. 

I love raspberries.