Bloody Advice

I did some grocery shopping the other morning and while inspecting my usual carton of $2.09 brown eggs I was interrupted by a miniature elderly gremlin-like woman who, calling me "Sonny," advised me to go with the carton of white Lucern eggs for $1.89. She went on to tell me that she had been a grocery shopper for more than 75 years and could always spot a bargain. I was hesitant to leave my brown eggs behind but even after explaining to Gremlin Lady that I had been quite content with them she wouldn't have it. She forced those white eggs into my basket and I reluctantly went on my way. I usually do my grocery shopping late at night so as to avoid interaction, but I had a days worth of plans so went during the morning rush hour. Gremmy didn't just advise me on eggs, she also didn't see it fit to buy perfectly ripe yellow bananas; if I bought them green they'd last longer. "Obviously Gremsky, but I want to eat them today," thought I. Of course I ended up buying the green ones. And later she counseled me through the bulk foods section, dishing recipes and ways to spice up dehydrated bean soups. My regular 20-minute shopping time ended up taking an hour. Understand that I do respect the elderly, enjoy their stories and acknowledge their wisdom but when my brown eggs are compromised I'm not a happy camper. I even tried once to escape her death gaze and switch the whites for the browns but somehow she beat me to the aisle.

This little story brings me to the real issue of the moment. I woke up this morning, it's a lovely sunny Saturday and I decided to cook some eggs and toast. With a chip on my shoulder I opened the carton of white Lucern eggs, five had been used, seven to go before I had an excuse to buy my brown ones. I cracked the first into the frying pan and watched it sizzle for a moment before cracking the second. Number two was in my hand, I pounded it twice on the edge of the counter, split it in half and shrieked. BLOOD. My egg was full of blood. I didn't even allow time to inspect, without thinking I threw it down the garbage disposal, but I'm sure there was at least a beak and a feather or two floating in the pool of blood and yoke. Needless to say, a small portion of my soul withered in that moment.

I considered not eating breakfast after the bloody egg, not unfathomable, but my stomach told me not to. What's worse is I went for another egg (I'm sick, I know) instead of swearing them off for life. I cracked egg number three. Blood. Vomit. Went for egg number four. Blood.

No more eggs for me. At least no more $1.89 white Lucern eggs cursed by old gremlins at Safeway.