The Egg Thief

The Egg Thief

The eggs were delectable. The shells were thick and speckled and the whites were perfectly gooey, while the yolks varied in colour from pale yellow to a deep ochre.

Harvey was a retired car dealer millionaire who dabbled in farming. When his hobby began to threaten his cholesterol, he brought the eggs to us:

Eggs 2 Euros a dozen.
Please return cartoons.

The sign was in English. The locals shook their heads – estate agents selling eggs? ¡Vaya! Foreigners selling houses were bad enough. But the eggs became popular, and soon we were doing a regular trade.

Andrea was happy at first – she got twenty percent, which became the office coffee fund. There was one little mystery, however, and it bothered her enormously: at the end of the week, there were always eggs left – yet never enough to make good a half dozen.

“Sunny side up!” Harvey would shout as he walked through the door. He had a smile like a rash. Andrea took the trays, checked for breakages, then counted the eggs carefully in multiples of six. She took home the odd ones herself. Invariably, come Friday, an undozenly cluster of eggs sat brazenly in the last tray. Andrea would mutter darkly.

The cartons were stacked next to the trays, and Andrea took to watching people like a hawk as they filled their boxes. For a time she suspected the postman, until we discovered that he was allergic. She never did catch the thief.

Eventually a salmonella outbreak put paid to Harvey and his farming ambitions. Andrea brightened up considerably, and she stopped dreaming in sixes and dozens. We all drank less coffee.

The end of the egg era was a sad time for me. I loved winding Andrea up. And the pilfered eggs were delicious.