Isn't it cute when the checkers at the grocery store ask you a little threateningly if you've checked your eggs? Like they won't scan them or let you take them home unless you've opened the cardboard container to verify that there are eggs inside? It's very important to our friendly neighborhood checkers that we don't leave their store with cracked eggs, or so I assume, because they ask me every silly-willy time I buy eggs if I have checked them.
Today when bagger mcmeister-bagger loaded my cart back up with the eggs balanced on top and half way hanging out of a sack with apple juice in it, I ventured out into the -6 degree parking lot. Those eggs (which I lied about checking) fell to a sudden and messy messy messy end. The emotions I felt then were annoyance, anger and blame. This is why I need chickens.
After Calvin and I drank some "warm juice," and had some lunch I no longer felt angry at the grocer. The living room was warm and bright and -6 was nowhere in sight (as long as I didn't look out the window), and I realized that if I had chickens, I'd have chickensicles and eggsicles on days like today. So now I don't know what to do again. Thanks for nothing, baggermeister.