You’ve run out of eggs

So you’ve woken up after what I gather to be a long night. Who knew that playing board games could be so exhausting? I’m kidding; everyone knows that. What better way to enjoy the day after a rousing conquering of the isle of Catan than to prepare and enjoy a well-made breakfast?

The good stuff, like pancakes, soft-boiled eggs, bacon, or even sausages, a fruit salad, blueberry muffins or even go the Asiatic route and miso soup it with fish and rice. Wow, I’m hungry for some reason.

Anyway, you open your fridge, freezer, or henhouse, and you realize you’re all out. Fresh out of that carton of eggs that you swear that you bought yesterday. It was a smart business venture, and you knew without a doubt how delicious it would have been. But no, your vault of perishables is barren, and you suspect the likeliest of suspects. 

Your roommate. You saw he/she/other (I will refer to such as xhe) was eyeing your food, your potential for experimentation and generation of calories most delicious. Okay, sure, you were most likely only going to touch sweet, sour, bitter, and umami, but we’re not all master chefs. You knew xhe wanted to eat your deliciousness when you saw them enjoying their own paltry candies. The way that they ate their box of chocolates that was on sale and gave a sense of euphoria that only an entire box can deliver. There was envy in their eyes, even when they collapsed on the floor and gasped for air.

Wait. Right, right, your roommate is in the hospital for anaphylactic shock and won’t be home for a few days.

Okay, never mind. Your roommate is cool, no harm done. No need to tell them how much you despised them mere moments ago.  

It must have been your neighbour! Although you keep a tight enough ship within your own perishables receptacle, you are known for leaving your front door ajar once a fortnight or so. Locking up after you leave is just so annoying, you know? That must mean it was your neighbour. The same one that welcomed you when you moved in — that was when they must have surveyed your security. Then, when you were out gallivanting off with your board game buddies, he must have snuck in and taken what was rightfully someone else’s before being purchased and in doing so became yours. 

That’s the last straw. You’ve had enough of that meddlesome neighbour who interfered when you were so drunk that he drove you home when you called. The same one with whom you shared egg recipes that you knew he would use on the stolen eggs. The same neighbours with a “for sale” sign on their lawn who you now remember moved away less than a week ago. Awkward.

If it wasn’t your neighbour, then… what the hell happened to your eggs?

You might as well get presentable, because the police are pulling up on your driveway. It seems that a string of TP-ing and egging of the residences down the street of the Hallows Eve-variety occurred last night, and the police are checking if everyone was alright.

You do remember what you did last night, right?

Right after you traded sheep for wheat, you thought it was a great idea to go on a crime spree. Don’t know why exactly, but nobody could convince you not to. But did you have to chuck the entire carton? Each one is like, four dollars man.


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