I'm sorry. I don't want to gross people out, but my secret fear of using eggs from the chickens in our backyard came true this morning as I stood cracking eggs into the pan for breakfast: the eggs had eyes.
I broke one, and then the other into a bowl (which I do now, as at least half of the commercially-bought eggs here have yolks that stick to the shell and worry me). It was good that I did that, because in fact, the eggs were not eggs at all. They were half-formed baby chicks. With a
visible placenta. And eyes.
The fact that I probably just made you squirm in your chair and make a face at your computer makes me feel better, because I had my own moment of gross-out which resulting in burning the toast. Breakfast became a much-scaled back occasion that originally planned. I think, for awhile at least, we're sticking with just the toast.