I can’t pinpoint the day it happened. The day I became obsessed with eggs, or to be more precise, hard boiled eggs.

I blame this obsession on a previous co-worker and probably shouldn’t mention his name, but you know who you are Jon Hodgkin.

Hard boiled eggs have become a big part of my life. I find myself having conversations with friends about them.

Case in point, the hard boiled egg is the perfect snack; 78 calories, satisfies hunger, easy to make and you can buy 24 of these little bad boys, for the same price as a stinking cup of Starbucks coffee.

I’ve made it a habit to keep a half dozen peeled eggs in the refrigerator. It’s my way of saying to my husband, “I’m retired, I’m not getting up to make you breakfast and by the way, there’s peeled, hard boiled eggs in the refrigerator.” That’s my idea of being the perfect wife!

I’ve fine-tuned my boiling and icing method down to an exact science and cook them precisely the same way each time. It takes seventeen minutes from start to finish. Last week, however, my husband interrupted my process and I had my first failed results in five years. I hadn’t felt this much ire since I retired from the mortgage industry. Anyone who has ever tried to shell a hard boiled egg will tell you, when it’s a failure, it not pretty.

I’m embarrassed to say that my inability to unsheath the shell from the egg caused me enough anxiety to throw a tantrum and put all the eggs, with shells, down the garbage disposal. I fully understood that it wasn’t good for the disposal, but I did it anyway.

With the grinding Insinkerator screaming in my ears, I rummaged through the cupboards like an animal to find my hidden contraband. Then, devoured the Green & Black, 70% Dark Chocolate Bar in it’s entirety; weighing in at 1200 calories, which in my world is 15 eggs. It had “Organic” on the package, how bad could it be?

The most embarrassing part of my tirade was Terry witnessing this behavior; he just leaned against the sink and said nothing. He’s such a smart man!

I unconvincingly apologized for my behavior and put away the pot, pot holders, unused bucket of ice and the container that was suppose to have housed the half dozen eggs. I sulked out of the kitchen.

I said to myself, you are better than this! It will never happen again! I know darn well that if I don’t ice the eggs immediately, the shell won’t pop off the egg!!!

I came to the conclusion that it was Terry’s fault and felt much, much better.