If you’re old you might know the song Small Town by John Mellencamp. In the song, John sings: “Married an LA doll and brought her to this small town, now she’s small town just like me”. And so I did, more or less. She was born in LA County, as was I, and moved with her family to “behind the Orange curtain” during childhood, as did I. She came along later, though, and doesn’t remember when our (more or less, kinda sorta, but not really) home town had more cattle than people within the city limits or know the family who owned the land that was a dairy farm before her house or the junior high school we both attended was built upon it. Anyway…
Just a few minutes ago as she was making her way to bed because she has to get up at 3:30 AM to get to her job by 4:30, we had this conversation:
Her: Oh… I don’t have much to take to work for lunch tomorrow.
Me: And the market just closed this very minute.
Me: And you’re always so on top of that stuff that I don’t even bother thinking about it.
Her: Not always, just usually.
Me: Well, we’ve got lots of stuff just none of it prepackaged for convenience. You could even go so far as to make a sandwich.
Her: That’s true. Would you be so kind as to hard boil a couple of eggs for me?
Me: Sure. I’ll even wash the eggs first. [wink]
Her: Why would you do that?
Me: Because eggs sometimes crack while being boiled and I don’t want any chicken shit to get into the cracks.
Her: Oh yeah. I forgot all about that. I never wash them.
Me: I’m trying to keep my streak alive. I’ve never poisoned anyone with my cooking and hope to keep it that way.
Her: I appreciate that.
Y’see, the eggs we get come to us just as they were when they were taken up from the nests, complete with any chicken manure, feathers, straw, or whatever else was on them. Stuff people generally don’t ingest intentionally.
Amethyst has raised laying hens of her own so I assume that she once knew about this, but then again maybe she didn’t have to know about it. Her hens were pampered and regularly dined upon worms she would dig for and then hand feed to them, and every living thing that’s ever encountered my dear Amethyst just loves her to death, so her hens probably straddled a bidet for ten minutes before laying and then washed the eggs with great care, too.
But this time I’m the one boiling the eggs, so I’m going to wash the darn things. Can’t have my wife eating shit.