Sunday mornings are nothing short of glorious in our home. Juni plays trains while Jasen cooks breakfast, and I sleep an extra 15 minutes.
Jasen always concocts something amazing. This morning he presented Belgian apple waffles, bacon, omelets and a rotten egg.
The rotten egg put a serious damper on our morning.
Jasen and Juni pick the eggs. Occasionally, they forget one. Which is fine. As long as the egg isn't refrigerated, it won't go bad for quite a while.
Apparently, one of the eggs Jasen decided to put into his omelet somehow turned bad. Very bad. Green, actually. He cracked it open, and immediately began gagging. He threw it in the trash, and realized he needed to take the entire can outside to rid our kitchen of the rancid smell. Even that didn't work. He's running the dishwasher, with the omelet pan inside. Wiping the counters. And gagging. Every few minutes he darted out the porch door yelling he was going to puke.
All I could do was laugh. And hide. I've never smelled a rotten egg, and decided that it was completely possible for me to take one whiff and never eat another poultry produced protein morsel in my life.
I screamed at him to spray some air freshener. But of course he was too busy with omelet number two.
Jasen eradicated the kitchen of the green egg (feeding it to my now very gassy and smelly pup) and sat down to eat his omelet.
And smelled his fingers. Not good. He ran from the living room, gagging and diving for the sink. Three washes later, and he still dared me to sniff his pinkie. No way. Today I learned that one negative to having fresh eggs is, every now and then, there is bound to be a rotten one in the bunch. The rest of the carton is still sitting in our fridge, awaiting its fate. Apparently, the smell was so bad that Jasen can't decide if he wants to risk a nasal disaster again.
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