Bartering Dozens for Drama

I can’t sleep… and of course, I’ve got something absurd stuck in my head again.

I was really sad earlier, and sometimes when I’m sad, my brain just… spirals into ridiculousness.

So this is me… turning grief into eggs.

(Just roll with it.)

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I keep thinking about the egg shortage.

Remember that? “Eggflation.” When eggs were like $9… or your firstborn?

Well, actually, people don’t take firstborns anymore.

Too expensive to raise one. These days they just want them working age. And that age varies by country. I think it starts at 6 in India.

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Anyways, I didn’t really feel it. I live in a small town surrounded by farms, so eggs here stayed affordable… sometimes even free.

Well… "free."

There was this woman who used to bring me boxes of fresh eggs,,, like, cartons at a time … in exchange for something far more expensive:

Listening.

Not just nodding politely. I’m talking about full-on therapist mode.

One-woman trauma dump hotline. Small-town edition.

There was one day I’ll never forget… she told me her toxic boyfriend finally gave her a ring. I got genuinely excited for her.

Then she said:

“It’s a promise ring.”

And I blinked.

Because this man was nearly 60 years old.

And I was like… ma’am.

I mean, I always heard men don’t reach full maturity until about 65, so maybe there’s still hope. Maybe by the time he hits retirement, he’ll propose for real.

Scientific studies confirm this.

Actually… don’t look it up. You’ll just confirm that I’m lying.

But yeah. That was just one of the many emotional egg transactions I endured.

It’s rural bartering at its finest:

Psychological labor in exchange for protein.

A little therapy for a little cholesterol.

Anyway, I was in Austin once during the height of eggflation and people were losing their minds at HEB, full egg crisis, collective panic.

I just stood there and said,

“Well… at least the cholesterol went down.”

Silence.

They weren’t ready.