The disaster called Easter.

Life is complicated, especially when eggs play a major part in your routine, like, say, during the Easter holidays. First of all, you need so many, try to buy 60 organic eggs from happy chicken without overdrawing your bank account and having money transferred from Zurich, then try to carry these 60 eggs all at once on a bike without breaking any of them, you’re driven mad by all that overcarefulness, transportation issues, that’s what a shrink might name it, but shrinks know nothing about life’s real challenges, do they, then try colouring them politically correct meaning organically, pink and yellow turns out fine, okay, but if you colour a white egg orange it just looks like a brown egg, there’s no fun in that at all, and when you try to transform the left over eggs into lunch, an omelette should be not too much to ask for, these chickens pay some strange kind of transmogrified revenge and let your beautiful mushroom omelettes stick to the pan, you end up with a shapeless mess, let’s face it, eggs totally let you down, there’s no escaping this awful truth, the mess on your plate, however, just needs a little upgrading, call it omelette à la façon des religieuses du Périgord and your Easter house guests are thrilled and keep toasting your culinary accomplishment, and as far as these disastruous orange eggs are concerned, just hide them well enough to rot in hell.

4 thoughts on “The disaster called Easter.

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