When I was a little girl my best friend in the whole world lived all the way across town. And I say it like that because when we used to ask for sleepovers, either set of parents would wrinkle up there noses and say,
"Maybe later, they live all the way across town."
And there would be no arguing with that because A - walking wasn't an option and B - I'm pretty sure I wasn't up to the two wheeled bike option yet.
So, on those rare sleepover adventures we made sure to get into as much mischief as possible. We tromped through the snow chasing cows or who know what we were really trying to do, in the summer we'd swim in the water trough with the mosquito eating fish, and in general just eat candy until I was sick to my stomach.
One very hot summer day we decided to make a potion consisting of raw eggs (a lot of them), dirt and a mayonnaise jar. Shaken, not stirred of course. And then left for far too long in the shed behind the wood pile. For reasons I cannot recall today, I accidentally dropped the jar and it shattered in the shed. Causing the stinkiest, most gag worthy mess that had to be cleaned up before I went home for the day.
And to this day I cannot lay eyes on scrambled raw eggs without feeling like I might toss my cookies at any moment. It has also resulted in me absolutely needing to have my eggs cooked to death before I eat them.
Today on my honey-do list:
Buy the husband egg whites
Standing in the egg section at wal-mart I remember that I'm allergic to that eggy smell and I start to get panicky. There's a cute old man trying to make conversation about how they don't have the kind of eggs he likes and I'm speed reading the boxes of egg beaters because one is regular and one is southwest and what does that even mean?? Isn't it just eggs in a paper carton. I give the old man and half smile and book it out of that section before something embarrassing happens. All the way up to the cash register and out to the car I can feel the eggs sloshing around in that paper carton and am trying to convince myself that throwing up is not an option. I get in the car and as I'm putting the egg beaters in the refrigerator it dawns on me, the husband did not ask me for egg beaters....he asked me for egg whites....and I epic failed on that one.