Six Dozen Eggs

My husband is always trying to impress me.  I’m serious.  Every time I turn around Brett is attempting his next feat, and then looking up at me to make sure I saw him juggle eight oranges or lift the piano up.  Then through a grin he always asks me “So, are you impressed, or what?”  

 Whose impressive?   THIS GUY.

Whose impressive?   THIS GUY.

Sometimes he does dumb things to impress me...really dumb things...like the time he ate 6 dozen boiled eggs...SIX DOZEN BOILED EGGS, people!!!!  I bought 6 dozen boiled eggs for the kids to dye before Easter.  Each kid got a dozen eggs to dye and the youngest, my golden boy, got 2 dozen because he is the only non-hormonal, non-teen in our house...which makes him my favorite by default.

 The Egg Dying Crew

The Egg Dying Crew

Easter morning I was ready to throw those eggs away because the smell of boiled eggs reminds me of a night earlier on in our marriage when Brett trapped me under the covers after he had tooted (That’s a story for another day.  Just know that I still suffer from post traumatic stress disorder from that incident which is why I binge shop. And binge eat.).  On my way to the outside trash can to chunk the eggs, Brett started banging on the window, which is what he does when he doesn’t want me to throw something away.  I pretended like I didn’t hear him, which is what I do when he does something dumb like bang on a window to stop me from chunking 72 eggs.  So he runs out in his whitey tighties like some kind of Egg Missionary trying to save those eggs.  And he says, “Whoooaaaa!  What are you planning on doing with all of those eggs?”  I look at him. And then look at the open trash can.  And then look back at him.  “Oh, I don’t know...maybe make some egg salad...right here in this trash can.”  Then he says to me, “Why would you throw away perfectly good boiled eggs?”  My response was, “Perhaps it’s because the smell of boiled eggs reminds me of that night when you trapped me under the covers after we ate at Trejos, and the toxic gas you expelled from your butt singed all my nose hairs.”  As I was literally gagging from the memory of that night, he was gazing off into the distance with the proudest smile on his face, a smile that most people reserve for memories like holding your newborn baby for the first time.  Nope, not my husband, he was smiling fondly at the memory of the night he scarred me emotionally with his toxic Trejos farts.

  This was when we were young and in love... before he held me under the covers and exposed   me to his toxic gas...all trust was lost after that

This was when we were young and in love... before he held me under the covers and exposed me to his toxic gas...all trust was lost after that

He snapped out of it and said, “Don’t throw those eggs away!  Might as well throw money away!  Somebody might want to eat them!” He and I both knew that nobody was going to eat those eggs.  But sometimes in marriage folks just get straight-up prideful.  And you know what they say about pride.  Pride comes before the fall...and pride comes before a dare to eat 6 dozen eggs.

“Leigh, do you dare me to eat all of these eggs?”  

“What?  No.”  

“Not right now, I mean, you can set the terms.”  

“Huh?  No. I dont want to do this.  I don’t dare you.”  

“Why?  You don’t think I can do it?  Bet me.  Come on baby!  Bet me that I can’t eat all of these eggs in less than ten days.  Bet me.”  

Now as a good Christian woman I did not want to take this bet because I’m not a betting woman, but my husband was in the driveway with his whitey tighties on and the elastic in the waistband of those whitey tighties was shot.  I knew the longer we stood out there and argued, the higher the possibility of a full moon.  On Easter Sunday.  That didn’t seem very resurrection-like to me, so it was time to go inside.

“Ok, fine whatever, I bet you.”  

“Leigh, be specific with the terms so I’ll know exactly what is expected of me.”  

“Brett.  What are you talking about!  This isn’t a contract!  There’s no terms!  Just eat all of the eggs!”  

And that is exactly what he did...For eight straight days he ate hard boiled eggs, egg salad sandwiches, eggs with tuna, deviled eggs, bacon and egg sandwiches, chopped salad with eggs, creamed eggs on toast, eggs, eggs, and more eggs...every last one of them.  On the night that he finished his last egg, he came to bed and looked at me through the proudest grin and said “I did it.  I ate every last egg. So, are you impressed, or what?”  

Yall.  Do you know what happens to your body when you eat six dozen boiled eggs?  Your body begins to involuntary leak a steady stream of toxic gas.  This gas smells like rotting trash and the smell brings all of the victims in its vacinity to a dark place emotionally...a very dark place.  Running a marathon- impressive! Building a business from the ground up- impressive!  Winning the world series- impressive!  Farting for eight days straight because you ate 6 dozen eggs...not impressive.  

”Leigh, did you hear me?  Are you impressed, or what?”  

Ok folks.  Sometimes in a marriage you find yourself at a crossroads...I could tell him the truth-  that I have never been more repulsed in all of my life.  Or I could tell him a version of the truth...a version that didn’t resemble the truth at all.

I looked him in the eyes with his face in my hands and said “Baby, I’ve never been more impressed in all my life!”  

  Yep, never been more impressed...well, except for the time that he wore this outfit...IN PUBLIC...now THAT was my proudest moment as his spouse.

Yep, never been more impressed...well, except for the time that he wore this outfit...IN PUBLIC...now THAT was my proudest moment as his spouse.

And with the most content look on his face he kissed my cheek goodnight, rolled over, and slept like a baby.  Like a big, egg farting baby.  And that about sums up marriage, folks.