I came home, excited and starving.
I had grits in the cupboard, and a mini gourmet indulgence in the fridge: red peppers, feta cheese, spinach, eggs.
My plan for my short lunch hour was to cook an omelette with grits and start to stuffus mon faceus.
My lunch hour isn’t spectacular and I don’t boast about being a great cook. What I know how to make and make well, I thoroughly indulge in with deep sighs and big mug of coffee.
Unbeknownst to me, my lunch hour was going to be a bit different. Scratch that, enormously different.
I took out all my ingredients, laid them out, started dancing and simultaneously licking my lips.
It was a joyous occasion.
I opened the egg crate and therein sat 2 empty egg shells.
I retraced the events of my last cooking bonanza in my brain and came up with no memory of having used my eggs in the past week.
My first word: mother—arrrggghhhh!
Technically not a word, more like a word transforming into hulk-like sounds.
My eggs were taken by some thieving pirate who no doubt enjoyed every minute of the egg heist.
I screamed every horrible thing I could think of and put together every random insult:
“WHO STEALS EGGS?!”
“WHAT THE FARK ARE YOU? A FOX?!?”
“WHO IN THE HOLY-BONFIRE-THAT-WILL-STRIKE-THIS-KITCHEN STOLE MY EGGS?!”
Not very inventive, but I was fuming.
That’s what happening when you live in a house filled with callous strangers.
My roommate ran in, and of course shocked.
“Your eggs got stolen and they left the empty eggs shells in the crate?!”
My other roommate yelled: “Are you sure you didn’t eat them and left them there in a rush?”
Why would I, the obsessive control freak, leave empty egg shells? No no, my eggs were here and now stolen by some animalistic hussy!
What if I were dying and this was my last meal?
What if I had an impromptu lunch guest?
This person had no care for my plans. They stole my eggs.
I was egg-less. It was an egg tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.
After we all tired of the shocked discussion, I packed my condiments away and head held low marched upstairs, grabbed a marker and notepad and wrote lewd notes everywhere.
“I hope you choke on the egg next time you snake!”
The logic is impossible – can snakes choke on eggs?
“Keep you grubby fingers off my food!”
Hardly threatening right?
“You inconsiderate, conniving pig!”
“I hope next time you steal them a big, bloody wet, pre-developed chick falls out!”
My roommate, the vegetarian was of course shocked, but my furore had no bounds. I was outta control and vulgar. I loved it.
I came home at 5 and saw a note attached to a new crate of eggs: “Sorry I borrowed your eggs, I was really hungry and hadn’t gotten any money till today, hope you can forgive me. Xxx”
I felt slightly crummy. “Xxx” didn’t leave a name, but as much as I felt sad for my hungry roommate, I still thought it would have been a lot more courteous to ask for my eggs.
I gave up the anger, had dinner.
Craving dessert, I skipped to the freezer; except, when I reached for the ice cream box, it was empty.
Surely no one is so hungry that ice cream would be an option?!
“WHAT THE FARK?! WHO STOLE MY FLIPPING ICE CREAM AND HAD THE BRAZEN BALLS TO LEAVE THE EMPTY BOX IN THE FREEZER?! ARRRGGGHHH!!”