Tragedy

I was biking home from the grocery store with a box of wine, a jar of raspberry preserves with seeds (because what is the point of raspberries without seeds?), and two Snickers bars in a bag hanging on my handlebars.

The end of my brake line was scoring the bag when it swung that way, but I wasn't planning on keeping the bag, so I didn't care. And then I went over the bump at the end of my driveway. The (rather heavy) jar of raspberry preserves jolted through the broken part of the bag and shattered on my driveway.

I scooped up the bulk of it in one hand and fumbled with the keys to the garage door with the other. I couldn't get in the door to the house; it had stuck, as it does occasionally. David was home, I knew, so I pounded on it. Nothing. I then went to the front door of the house and let myself in there (more key fumbling) and then splattered the kitchen floor with preserves as I pulled out a tupperware. I tried picking out the glass shards and then scraping off the whole front of the preserves still clutched in my hand.

On rather sound advice, I abandoned the preserves (after making one sandwich, which did not end up having glass in it).

So don't drink wine! It's bad for you! Or your preserves. Or don't bike? Or don't go to Fareway? I don't know what the moral is, but any story that ends with me losing my raspberry preserves has got to have a moral somewhere.

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Derek: Oh, oh, I know the moral. Pick me!
Me: What is the moral?
Derek: Don't carry your preserves in a bag with your box wine while biking while your break line is scoring the bag.

Thanks, Derek. We'll all take that to heart.