The Last Strawberry

My daughter, who lives abroad, specifically mailed me a box of imported, supposedly very expensive strawberries.

I happily followed her instructions, washing them three times in a saltwater soak. Just as I was about to eat one, my one-year-old grandson started crying.

After I finished feeding him and came back out to the living room, all that was left of the strawberries on the coffee table were a few green leaves.

My husband of thirty-five years criticized me for being careless, saying I shouldn't have used a colander to hold them.