The Incredible Inedible Egg

I had fried eggs for dinner and I feel like warm crap now. I thought the last time I got sick after eating fried eggs that it was just a fluke, but getting sick two times after eating fried eggs is not a fluke, it’s an epidemic. I guess this is what happens as we creep closer to old age. One day you can’t eat fried eggs, the next day they’re fitting your walker for tennis balls. My youth is slipping away each day.

I used to get so annoyed when my mom couldn’t make it through a whole movie without a pee break. Now I’m visiting the WC at least once during American Idol.

Music is getting too loud. The laughter of kids playing out by the pool is too loud. The voices in my head are too loud. Everything is too loud.

And I’m starting to say “when I was a kid,” like I grew up during the Depression or the fall of the Roman Empire. Like people even care that a soda cost fifty cents or gas was a buck in 1985.

But getting back to the eggs. I know it’s a breakfast food, but I thumb my nose at convention and partake in the evening. I’m guessing that’s my problem. Perhaps I should move to oatmeal-also a breakfast food, but not as greasy. So I’m still a rebel, just a rebel that doesn’t feel like puking all throughout Gilmore Girls.

This is just the beginning. I am entering the twilight of my youth. Tonight it’s oatmeal for dinner, tomorrow it’s bingo at the Catholic church and in bed by 5 p.m. Literally tomorrow…Wednesday night is big at the church. Frame outs, black outs. I have my dauber ready.