Dead baby chickens

Doctor Swigmon Fwad Conundrum

EGGS
Faux Pas or not?
What a way to start the day…
Much to my dismay, and high anxiety…as I opened the refrigerator door…one of my cool dead baby chickens, obviously unaware of its condition, tried to come out of its shell, which is admirable from a psychological prospective, but a little late in this case.
I was so taken with the futility of it all, I had to actually lie down on my own couch, pro bono, which is a rate I reserve only for myself.
When I recovered sufficiently I reopened the door I had opened before and saw that it was not a dream as I had hoped. The egg was cracked beyond repair not unlike Humpty of Dumpty fame.
My first thought was to act as though it had not happened but as I attempted to lift it from the carton, egg boogers dripped everywhere.
It was not salvageable.
Again I was smitten with affliction. I am an individual of symmetry. I live each day as though it were the same. My life is entirely redundant.
Clocks look to me to set the hour. I live by a strict daily regimen that does not waver. What ever was I now to do?
The baby chicken was dead. That was established and trashed. The carton contents were left unbalanced.
Each day I consume two eggs…fact! One egg is missing…fact! Seven eggs are left…fact! Two does not go into seven…fact.
The facts added up but they did not divide. Should I throw one egg away? I remembered the old adage, “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” which seemed to be the case in this case.
I found the three-egg omelet rather tasty.
My world is balanced once again.

Swigmon Out,
Bye George
NoPo8