Now the girls have got the hang of this egg laying lark, there's no stopping them. Last week they managed 18 eggs between them, and this number is likely to rise throughout the summer months. The ever tolerant husband is doing his bit, dutifully munching his way through four or so a week, and the youngest son does enjoy a boiled egg and toast. That still leaves an awful lot of eggs.
I've given eggs away to the neighbours (it pays to keep them sweet, especially with Doris's egg announcements), and I've managed to sell three boxes to friends. Now, though, I have two full boxes of eggs stacked up in the kitchen, and another will be filled by the end of the day. No one has repeat ordered eggs, so I'm at a loss as to what to do with them. I may resort to harassing minor aquaintences in the playground, mugging them for eighty pence and forcing them to carry home fragile eggs in a ridiculously large box.
I suppose I could put a sign in the window, but with the recent spate of chicken rustling in the area, I'm reluctant. I could just give them away, but I really wanted the hens to buy their own sack of pellets.
I won't be eating them. Eggs are revolting.
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