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Walter Duranty
B. 1884 Liverpool, England. / D. 1957 Orlando, Florida
Excess No Doubt

While making an omelet the other night I decided to go for three eggs but the third one had blood in the yolk. This by the way is why they always say to break each egg into a smaller bowl—an adjunct, sub-bowl—first, and then pour it on in. Because the bloody yolk burst and encrimsoned the two eggs already waiting in my mixing bowl—so it was back to square (or ovoid) one for me, with three down the drain. My immediate “Oh shit I SHOULD have used a sub-bowl” reaction was immediately tempered by the delightful thought that I might be in for a run of good luck—for mustn’t this be the meaning of a bloody yolk? Folk wisdom—I must have heard it somewhere—maybe I don’t even need to hear it—it’s just there, tucked in my genes. Good luck—fertility, good work, good harvests. . .or not? Is it a bad omen, maybe? One more thing I really don’t feel like looking up on the internet—Old Wives Tales Eggs Blood Luck.

I have just made bacon for the cats—although I swore I wouldn’t—and the wretches are too sated with their special tuna treats to be bothered. . .yet. Anyway I wrote all that (above) back in June at Writing Group; and it came to mind tonight while I was cracking eggs by a little method that I like to call, “With One Hand” (again for an omelet; again straight into the mixing bowl). And although a good bit of white from the third was left on my fingers, it had two yolks which fell out whole. I thought, Well that MUST be lucky!

Consolation Site: I Repeat—Fucking Brits!

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