Yes. It came out of the carton that way.
Now, I find this disturbing. And I don’t want to have a bunch of people writing in to tell me that they keep chickens and I ought to toughen up and not stress out about a little feather. I completely reserve to myself the right to stress out about a little feather. I don’t keep chickens, and let’s be honest, the reason I don’t is because I don’t want to. I have done it in the past, and I see no percentage in it.
I enjoy the fact that there are some people out there who self consciously and purposefully inflict themselves with chickens. More power to them I say. It takes all kinds to make a world. But as for me and my house, I don’t like a chicken coop, I don’t like the smell, I don’t like the mess, I don’t like the way the little ingrates peck you when you try to feed them, nor the unmentionable illnesses they contract, and I don’t like having to wash my eggs.
I am a firm believer in paying the professionals to handle the problem and do the dirty work for me. And so I feel that, having made this decision to delegate my egg farming to someone who likes it, I may with a clear conscience strongly object to pulling an egg out of the carton and starting to crack it into the carrot cake, only to be scared out of my wits by a whopping huge feather, stuck (what it’s stuck with I decline to consider) to the side of it.
As a matter of fact, the whole English egg scene is more than a little disturbing. There are many things that are fabulous and gorgeous and incredible about England – the Christ Church Library to name but one. But I can’t help but feel that they’re weak on eggs.
To begin with, you don’t buy them in the refrigerated section of the grocery store. That’s worrisome enough – they’re on a shelf next to the pasta. Once you’ve located them in what is clearly the wrong aisle of the store, then you have to shuffle through loads of cartons before you find one that doesn’t have broken egg leaking out of the bottom of it. (That’s not an exaggeration either.)
Then you take your little package of six eggs to the front and pay an arm and a leg for it. (You could really splash out and buy the package of 15, but then you couldn’t fit it in your fridge. Of course, this wouldn’t worry an English person, because they don’t keep them in the fridge, but this just takes us back to our first point.)
Once you have toiled home with your little cargo of six eggs, you open it up to find that all the eggs are brown. I presume that this is to snooker the public into believing that the eggs are farm fresh, but if I cared about that then I’d be raising my own chickens wouldn’t I? I personally would pay extra if I could find a package of jumbo sized white eggs.
Note also the size of this little specimen pictured here. Did you drink in the way I had to turn the egg cup upside down to make it fit? I tried to prop the miserable little thing in the egg cup to have its picture taken and it just plunged away out of sight. So I feel that I have already been pretty long suffering with the egg situation. They’re expensive, they’re room temperature, they’re brown, and they’re hard to find without a magnifying glass. And how do I find my patience rewarded? By having a ginormous feather – probably riddled with bird flu – nearly fall in the birthday cake.