There were only a few boxes of eggs left on the shelf. There must have been a run on them. Perhaps everyone was cooking omelettes and soufflés. I knew immediately that the eggs left would be the wrong kind.
There was someone unpacking and then folding up cardboard cartons further up the same aisle.
"Do you have any other eggs?" I ask.
"Sorry, that's all the eggs we have. Dunno why."
He turns, one of his eyes sports an-egg shaped, purple bruise.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Oh, nothing. I was at a party and things got out of hand. Some woman hit me in the eye with her stiletto heel."
"Someone's hen night?"
He nods. Untroubled by what has happened to him, he continues to unpack and fold boxes, as I reach reluctantly for the eggs laid by the caged hens, hoping that they will forgive me.
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