What came first?

I was living in Hotlanta in the early 90's. Not in anything fancy. Just a one bedroom apartment in one of those apartment complexes that you are mandated to live in from the ages of 21-26.

One summer, I had had a really bad week and thought I would make some egg salad. C'mon, doesn't everyone make egg salad during their valleys in life? I say nothing says "cheer the hell up" like a big bowl of stink.

I put some eggs on to boil and was getting out the rest of the ingredients. When I went into the fridge to retrieve some mayo....alas, there was none. This probably caused a crying jag for a few minutes. But I bucked up and grabbed my purse. I cruised to the grocery store in my Buick LeSabre... ala 1988. You know the one....."The Old Folks Special", I think they called it.

I strolled leisurely through the grocery store looking for other snacks, stopped at the magazine aisle to read a little Cosmo, ate some free samples at the bakery, and then went and purchased my mayo and some bread.

As I was driving, I suddenly got a horrible,sickening feeling in my stomach. And it wasn't from the link sausage on a cracker I had eaten at the store. Oh...my.....gawd!....I don't think I turned off those eggs!!!!!! And I had been lollygagging like a city worker for about an hour and a half at the grocery store. I pressed my foot on the accelerator and headed towards my ...gulp!....apartment.

When I reached the street in which my apartment was located, I almost passed out as I saw a crowd of people standing outside in the parking lot looking up at my apartment on the second floor. I drove closer. Smoke was pouring out the deck's screen door.

Now, it could have just stopped there. Really. My punishment could just have been a smoky apartment that reaked like a sewer pipe for days. Or have exploded eggs everywhere that I would find for months after. Or seeing my freaked-out cat hiding in the one-inch space under my couch. But no. No.....that's not all there was going to be.

You see....my assigned parking spot was between a derelict station wagon(and surprisingly older car than mine) and a pole that held up a carport like covering. Everyday, I had to negotiate like a neurosurgeon to get into my spot with my gargantuan, boat-like, uncompromising car. Except that day.....when I thought my belongings were burning up along with my cat. I pulled that monstrosity on wheels like I was driving a Yugo and in doing so, smashed in the side of both of my car doors against the pole. Everyone in the parking lot turned around and now was staring at me. Splendid.

I got out of the car, made my way through the crowd, and headed towards the stairs that led to my apartment. As I ran up the stairs, I saw a maintenance man coming out of my door. He saw the panicked look on my face and said the only words he thought could comfort me.......words that would stick with me for years.....words that left no room for confusion.......

"Mam....I think your eggs are done."