It Doesn’t Matter How Old I Get, I’ll Always Have a Bowl of Rotting Fruit on My Counter

Some things never change.

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Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash

This is my life, and I have come to accept it.

It occurred to me the other day, as I sliced up previously mentioned apples for an apple crisp, that it does not matter how rich or mature I become in this life, this bowl of rotten fruit will forever remain.

This came down to the mantra, out of sight, out of mind.

While my counter would be pristine, the crisper drawer of my refrigerator looked as though a small rabid animal had taken up residence and was collecting foodstuffs for a long and challenging winter.

Ultimately, I don’t mind the rotting fruit because, in the end, it prompts me to do what I do best.

I make fruit better by baking it into something sweet.

Written by

Mother, writer, user of too many hastags.

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