Eggs to the left of me, eggs to the right. Eggs in the fridge and in every nook and cranny in the chicken coop. I am one step away from standing on a street corner in P'ville, dressed in a trench coat with a slouch hat and sunglasses. "Psst. Hey, lady, wanna buy some eggs?" Every conversation starts with, "Hi, how are you? Do you need any eggs?" I gave a dozen each to everyone at Christmas. I've given eggs to the ladies I've met for lunch. Let's face it. I'm an egg pusher. Some poor lost soul made a wrong turn up my driveway the other morning. I nearly rushed out the door with a carton of eggs, but he got away. I used to have a buyer at the little hardware/convenience store in Fair Play, but guvmint regs now prevent the sale of farm eggs commercially. I can sell privately, but that's it, and no advertising allowed. Clay is coming up next week. Want to guess what I'm serving? I recently saw a recipe for deviled eggs with the yolks mashed with avocado; sounds decadent! Rain is predicted for the day he's coming up. That means he won't be riding his motorcycle and I can push a dozen or so eggs off on him. Heh heh heh.
Wouldn't you just know? This secret project I'm working on requires a bench vise. No sweat, the bench vise is one of the few tools I knew exactly where it sits in the shop. Make that "sat." In the flurry of sales last year, I must have sold it, thinking I'd never need it. It's gone. Aarrgh. No wonder Steve was a hoarder. My bad. Fortunately, Clay can locate one and bring it up, so all is not lost.