We pulled it out of the refrigerator’s bottom drawer aka the “Crisper.” Obviously something had gone seriously askew.

Whatever it had been at one time, it was now a swampish bag of goo. Forty shades of swirling green ziplocked in a plastic bag which moved of its own volition.

“Look,” I said in hushed terror. “It moved. It’s alive! Run, honey, run! Save yourself! Remember, I always loved you!”

I threw myself over the bag and that’s the last I remember of having my own identity. I call it the time before The Other.

Yes, it was time clean out the fridge. Household rules dictate that when we are unable to squeeze a single item in without something else being displaced and bouncing off our toe on its way to the floor it must be time.

Then my wife made another shocking discovery.

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