Scambled Eggs

I have a chicken who has been sitting on fertilized eggs for over a week. They should hatch into fuzzy little chicks in 10 days.

This morning, in a groggy haze, I made scrambled eggs for breakfast. I remember noticing that one egg was particularly dirty, but I didn't think much of it.

Then I went outside to feed the chickens. I pulled the setting hen off her nest, removed the one blue egg (one hen always lays her egg under the setting hen) and then counted the eggs. There were only 13. One was missing!

I recounted, and searched, and realize that I most certainly ate it. I am fairly certain it wasn't developing. I candled the eggs a few days ago and a few were duds. If it wasn't, there would have been blood. Even drenched in cock sauce, I would have noticed blood. I hope. Or crunchy bits.

I won't be eating eggs again any time soon.

Do I look like a Ma'am?

Last week I got to verbally abuse a barista at my favorite coffee shop.

The little fucker is new, and replaced my favorite guy. This one keeps calling me "ma'am" and it pisses me off. He manages to say it at least 5 times in a 5 minute period. So today I asked him how old he thought I was. "24?" I told him it was a good answer since I'm almost 30. I told him that being called ma'am makes me feel old and then I want to cry and eat chocolate. I dropped a dollar in the jar and told him that if he ever does it again, that I'm going to stop tipping him.

We chatted a little, then he handed me my coffee and did it AGAIN. He immediately caught himself and said it was habit, and he was sorry. I told him that I was going to jump back there and kick his scrawny little punk ass if he didn't watch it.

Then a lady who was about 50 years old walked in, and I asked her "Do you like it when they call you ma'am?" and she said it bugs the crap out of her.

I'm so awesome.

And yes, I know. He spit in my coffee. It tasted great. Like punk bitch.