When Starcat came down from Cosmopolis for a visit last weekend, I spent part of Saturday afternoon taking photographs in and around my refrigerator. I am the hostess with the mostest. While I offered forth a fascinating photo essay about my fridge magnets from that afternoon, I did promise something in the future that I called an Eggsposé, which I have yet to make good on. I know that you and the rest of the world have been waiting with all the anxious excitement that your little bodies can contain for an entire week, and because I am a merciful and loving blogger, I will give that which was promised on this, the seventh, day.
Okay, no, that's ridiculous. I took pictures of some grossly outdated eggs that I have had sitting in the door of my refrigerator for months while I had a guest visiting from out of town, which makes me a terrible host, a bad kitchen-keeper-upper, and someone who should really get another hobby if rotting poultry product is what passes for subject matter. Nonetheless, I like my egg pictures. I like the ovalness of eggs. I like their individual textures and shades. I like to feel good about the fact that I am not a chicken, because comparatively those eggs are sizable when you consider where they must come out of a chicken. Ouch.
EggsposéHere, we have a long shot along the length of the egg shelf toward the interior of the refrigerator.
This one is a shorter shot, a close-up if you will.
As you can see, this egg, the main focus of the series, is heavily stippled.
From the top, it gives the distinct impression of a nipple. This one's my favourite.
The following picture shows the eggs through the bottom of the metal bars that run along the egg shelf. I call it "Egg Jail". No I don't.
Tell me an egg-related story.
No, wait. Me first. When I was about ten years old, I went to a cousin's farm. She took me out to the chicken coop to collect a few eggs. There were only a few chickens sitting on boxes filled with hay when we got there, which surprised me, because on television chickens were always part of some larger operation. My cousin was showing me how you had to be gentle and not upset the chickens when a large hen pecked her right in the middle of her hand. We both jumped back and inspected the red mark that was blooming on her soft skin. I thought Stupid fucking chicken and decided that I would upset as many of those ugly creatures as I wanted for the rest of my life. I didn't, though, because I like animals, even if they're ugly and basically walking vegetables.
Now you go. It's your turn.