I found a half-eaten apple in my handbag

Dear Delyara, Not wrapped. Not in a container. Just there, bruised and slightly sticky at the bottom of my bag like a quiet accusation. I must have put it there in a rush yesterday when my daughter changed her mind halfway to school and said she didn’t want it anymore. I probably thought I’d deal with it later. Later, apparently, turned into the next afternoon when I was looking for my keys in the pharmacy. I stood there with the apple in my hand and felt that weird mix of embarrassment and sadness I get from these little domestic leftovers. My handbag used to carry my things. Now it carries bits of everybody else’s day too — tissues, wrappers, school notes, random hair clips, receipts, medicine spoons, and now, apparently, abandoned fruit. I threw it away and wiped my hand on a tissue. But the feeling stayed longer than the apple did.