And for some reason this morning, the bag was open and the apples were all bruised.
It's not a simple, "apple fell on the floor and got slightly bruised" thing, either. I've had that happen in this house from the top of the fridge, and it never results in anything like this. I've taken the worst-looking one to work with me, and as I examine it, I see that more of the apple's surface is bruised than not. If I hadn't personally picked it up and verified that it was firm and healthy yesterday, I'd assume that it was unsafe to eat. Either it fell from the top of the fridge more than once, or someone in the house hates me. As I no longer live with Mr. Passive-Agressive (who was in the habit of throwing away two-day-old potatoes because "they've been sitting there for three weeks"), I'm assuming the former.
I'm listening to NIN's Hurt right now because after conversing about the song with r3507 on Friday (specifically, how Johnny Cash's cover is the most depressing song ever recorded), I'm convinced that Trent Reznor's version is sung from the point of view of somebody whose cupcake just landed on the floor, frosting-side down.