The Chicken or the Egg?

There are comes a point in everyone's lives when time's old questions and debates become relevant. For centuries biblical historians and theorists have debated evolution versus creation. As a practicing Catholic, I have found that my own beliefs sometimes part from the faith I was born into and maintained as an adult. You can sort of say that I have picked out the parts of Catholicism that suit my needs and comfort me in my day to day life. (Don't tell my priest!) I often believe God had many trials and errors in creating a very non perfect man. Ergo evolution.

I pride myself on weekends in which I can refrain from philosophical, political and/or any general thought. The idea of not having to make any sort of decision other than where to seek sustenance and adult beverages for two to three days is liberating. But even that much decision making is usually left to my better yet sometimes feeble half. We both are highly functioning professionals and really the only excuse I can think of for our lameness is that by the weekend we are depleted of all intelligence.

While visiting one of our favorite local breakfast hot spots, (a small obscure house in a residential neighborhood bordering downtown) we were thrust into a debate that neither of us were prepared to consider. Our day started like any other weekend. We slept until our fur baby was awake enough to clearly state that he was starving to death. At which point, we realized our stomachs were eating us from the inside out. Our only real option was to leave the confines of our home and welcome the outside world into ours. It all started out innocently enough.

Going out to eat when you are famished is not the best decision as portion amounts are relative.

We each ordered two breakfast tacos each. I ordered a chorizo, egg, and potato taco along with a bean, cheese, and bacon taco. Mmm! Delicious! She ordered two egg, potato, bacon, and cheese tacos. What the waitress failed to mention was the innards of the breakfast tacos were an overabundance of yumminess spilling out of a warm tortilla. In order to devour this overindulgence of breakfast goodness, there would have to be a fork phase to eat the overflow, followed by a two hand assisted taco eating frenzy.

Quickly enough after starting my second taco, the chorizo, egg and potato, I began to realize that while my eyes told me to keep eating my stomach was quickly begging me to stop. I could see the same look upon her face. She was filling up fast. Were we determined enough to leave no morsel behind or fly our white flags of defeat. My flag started up my mental flag pole. She decided that the last bite in her mouth was the last as well. Neither of us could have ever prepared for what would happen next. I look of pain, anguish, and disgust suddenly made an appearance on her face. Oh, no! I feared a volcanic eruption at my breakfast table. I quickly passed my table napkin to her. Spit out your food! Her face grew grim followed by mild relief. Swallow.

 

I began to question her out of grave concern. Was she sick? Then it happened. That weekend feebleness had shown through her. Her last bite had what she called too much egg. She swore that she might have bit down on an egg shell as well. While she was thinking of the egg shell she began to wonder if it had been an egg shell at all- could it have been a baby chick? Her stomach began to wrench in disgust and sadness for the baby chick. She had a moment when reality once appeared in her head and she was able to swallow. I doubt that there was ever a baby chick in her mouth other than in scramble egg form but there possibly might have been a small piece of an egg shell in her taco. In our case, the egg definitely came before the chick.