CONTINUING THE EGG SALAD SAGA

Continuing the egg salad saga, I boil the eggs (the large ones and the two small ones), and let them cool while I go back to work to conduct Back to School Night in my classroom.  I hate Back to School Night because it's my annual Dog and Pony Show, and I'm really not good at it.  I'm fine in front of the kiddos; I'm not so fond of adults.

Luckily, my grueling schedule of four in a row without a bathroom break pays off at Back to School Night because it means I can sneak out of school a little early and beat the traffic jam of everyone trying to exit at once.  When I arrive home and open the door, the smell of boiled eggs assaults my nose.  Yes, my house smells like a giant fart.  Of course, with middle school children who don't know yet what deodorant is, it kind of smells just like work does.

I make the egg salad, complete with the usual onion powder and garlic powder and dry mustard and salt and pepper and lite mayonnaise.  I don't top it with paprika this time because ... well ... sue me, I forget to do this step.  I am thinking about paprika while mixing the egg salad, then I space out.

I make myself a half an egg salad sandwich before sealing up the container to be put away.  As I reach to place the container into the fridge, the whole concoction slips from my hand, and by "slips," I mean to say the container flies through the air, does three triple loops, a double-back somersault, and I swear it performs a flawless jackknife before landing upside down on the floor.

Afraid to look, I slowly turn my gaze downward, fully expecting the cheapo container's cover to have sailed away on its own, and fully anticipating egg salad carnage spread out over the entire kitchen floor and cabinets.  I am sad all of a sudden, sad that I worked so artfully on my egg salad only to have it potentially strewn at my feet.

I cannot stand here forever, though, fridge gaping open and egg salad container in distress.  When my eyesight clears enough to see the damage, I realize with incredulous recognition that the lid ... has ... stayed ... in ... place.

Yes, yes, yes!  Egg Salad is saved!  Huzzah!  Kalloo-kallay!  Whoooooopie!

I grab the container, turn it over, tamp it down slightly, then lift the lid to see.  The contents may be slightly askew, but most of the egg salad is safe.  Some of it clings to the lid, refusing to reunite with its brethren, traumatized by its horrifying decent past the shelf and onto the ceramic tile.  That's okay because I will scrape those stragglers right onto my bread tomorrow when I make my lunch for work.

Take THAT, egg salad.  You may put up a good fight, but I will definitely get in the last licks.