The Omelette

Is that what I think it is? I inspect the egg carton a little bit closer. Yes, I think it is.

I take the egg carton up to the front desk. The clerk looks up from her newspaper.

"In spite of the fact that these eggs are damaged, I'm going to buy them. Can I get a discount?"

She barely glances at them. "Sure. Half-off."

I pay her, and am on my way before she has a chance to change her mind.

When I get home, I gently take one of the eggs out of the carton. I hold it up to the light. Inside is a chick. Dead of course, but it should work just fine anyway.

I start humming to myself as I prepare the omelette.

Later...

"Oh, honey, that omelette was mighty tasty this morning. Was that sausage in it? I couldn't tell."

Why had I ever married this man?