Today we went to the farmers market. I needed eggs. So we bought some. Never mind that they cost enough that they should perhaps have been golden eggs from Beanstalk Jack or something. They were farm eggs! How very organic and local of me right? I know!
I needed them for a chiffon cake, for Nikki's birthday tonight. Chiffon cakes require quite a lot of eggs of course so there I am, happily cracking and separating away, when I crack one egg and in the little fissure, there are vessels. Vessels, guys.
I peeped in a bit more, and the thing looked like a bloodshot eye. Oh my ew. My egg has been doing drugs. A bad sign. A smart person would have stopped there, but not me. I kept pulling it apart like I would turn it into a regular egg just by embarrassing it into sobriety with my disgusted expression. And let me just say that number one: My brief chicken-eating days are O.V.E.R. And veganism is looking rather tempting.
Number two: in the case I do not turn vegan, hook me up with the store-bought, pasteurized, trucked in from Malawi or wherever eggs. The farm is too fresh for me.
And three: I very much hope that I in no way, shape, or form have this conversation EVER ever again:
C: "J?! I'm sorry,Love, but could you please help me with something I do not want to handle? Literally or figuratively."
J: "um, ok...what would that be?"
C: "Oh, there are some fetuses in the kitchen sink."
My dad has a thing about eggs too because he grew up on a farm. He says 'If you are going to eat them, scramble them within an inch of being recognizable as eggs.' Good job buying local, though! I just look for the cage free eggs at the grocery store. So far (fingers crossed), nothing fertilized!
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