I don't feel like my blog's archives are extensive enough to draw from, but I need to feel like an accomplished and prolific writer, today, and I relived this experience this morning. So let's open the vaults and share this awful adventure anew, slightly edited from the original post of July 18, 2009:
I've been transplanted from city life for a while now, and I've learned many things. One of them is that Little House on the Prairie is dramatized, sensationalized, and romanticized.
While, yes, farm fresh eggs from chickens whose names you know are glorious things...
... you never get rotten eggs from a store!
I have refrained from posting a picture of the noxious thing because, quite frankly, it looks 1/2 as nasty as it smells and the fetid stench nearly caused me to wretch (I don't want a visual reminder of the putridness).
But never fear. Since I've removed the malodorous monster, disinfected my entire kitchen, and air-freshenered all remaining fumes from the foul beast, Clucky will live to see another day.