Dear Bag of Discount Spinach,
When I saw you in the produce section, neon yellow tag proclaiming that you were a rare and sought-after 99-cent manager’s special, I snatched you from the cooler with a quickness. As I held you up to the light, inspecting your slightly wilted leaves, I looked upon you with the eyes of a hopeful lover.
I saw the good in you; I saw the fresh, beautiful, dark green leaves hiding among the wilted and slimy ones. I saw your flaws, but with the naïveté I’ve often been known to exhibit, I thought I could change you. I thought I could save you.
Fine, I’ll admit I then forgot about you for a few days and I’m sorry for that. Those nights spent alone and neglected in the depths of my crisper drawer must have been hellish. You must have felt so lost and alone as I passed over you time and time again in search of other foods. But when I remembered you again, Discount Spinach, I tried! I really tried to make up for my neglect.
We spent so much time together then, you and I. Tonight, my arms sunk within your verdant depths, I sought out only the best in you. I carefully extracted each leaf from within your plastic cloak, painstakingly separating the soggy scraps of rotten leaves from the healthy ones. When I had finished exploring every inch of you, I observed with great sadness that only a fraction of your former glory remained. The bad leaves outnumbered the good; you had succumbed to a cold and lonely demise.
Was the money I saved by buying a huge bag of discount spinach worth the pain? Not only the pain I caused you, but (let’s face it, more importantly) the pain I suffered by having rotten spinach leaves clinging to my arms during the lengthy salvage mission I was forced to undertake? No. No it wasn’t.
Yours in Iron and Calcium, but not in Decomposition,