Saturday morning breakfast is pretty much like the highlight of my entire week. Usually it’s either bacon and eggs or a tasty beef and cheese omelette, maybe some sausage every now and then. But whatever I’m eating, it involves eggs. Now maybe when you go to the store and buy eggs, you really don’t even notice just how many kinds there are. You’ve got your white eggs, your brown eggs, some artificial crap like EggBeaters; organically grown, super health-nut eggs, and several different sizes of eggs: Medium, Large, Extra Large, and Jumbo.

If I’m going to have eggs though, I’m going to have enough of them to count. The biggest possible size of egg is the only way to go as far as I’m concerned, because if I get the regular “large” size I’ll eat an entire dozen in two or three sittings.

Jumbo eggs, therefore, are my go-to. They’re the eggs that are so freakishly big, it’s hard to believe that a chicken could even squeeze one out without hemorrhaging. They scare the farmer every time he sees one. He does a double-take and looks around the chicken coop to make sure there are no ostriches around. When you pick up a dozen, you have to reset your footing to keep from toppling over at the sheer unexpected mass of it. It’s like when you’re in the produce section and you see apples the size of your head and watermelons bigger than your baby brother; it’s the kind of food that really makes you wonder what they’re putting in the water.

In any case, my story begins the other day when I was making some… you guessed it. Edible and incredible, indeed. Oh, and this all happened in slow motion, mind you. So as I’m describing this to you just read it about half as fast as you normally would and take some extra time thinking about it as you read.

I take out a bowl and place my three jumbo-sized chicken babies into it. Lifting them out, I slowly crack each one, slamming it against the edge of the bowl and pulling it apart to let the slimy, gooey goodness fall in. When I get to the last one, something just isn’t right. I’m getting that bad feeling you get, like when you know someone is following you down a dark alley. Or when you see someone that you haven’t seen in a long time and you’re wearing your “I’m With Stupid” shirt with the arrow pointing up. Or that warm sensation you get when you first… nevermind.

So this egg slams against the side (echoey slow motion cracking sounds as the shell breaks open, the thumb on my opposite hand floating toward the cracked shell) and I begin to pull it apart. First comes the clear egg white, and then, to my utter horror and dismay, comes one, then two… then THREE YOLKS.

Hold on, I’ve got to pause here and scream now that I’m thinking about it again. Ok, I’m good to continue.

It’s a set of triplets. Chicken triplets. It’s so totally gross and disgusting and disturbing. I felt like I just had an abortion and then was like “Hmm tasty, I think I’ll eat it!” I’m just about scarred for life, for the next two minutes at least. They didn’t taste any different than normal though. They were actually pretty good. Just watch out for those things, eh?