I just pulled an apple out of the refrigerator. I proceeded to almost drop it and did the whole juggling a single object thing. I failed miserably and my apple smacked down on the kitchen tile with that sick sound that only an apple hitting the floor makes. Images of bruised apple filled my mind as I watched it roll from one end of the kitchen to the other, out into the dining room, under the high chair, past the hutch, and stop just short of hitting our chinchilla's cage.
After rinsing it off, I took a few bites. Of course, String Bean wanted some. After she attempted to chew the skin, she spit it all out at me and left me alone with my battered and bruised fruit.
I was only able to choke down half of it. Something about the overly juicy, brown, bruised parts grossed me out.