the incredible inedible egg

yesterday, i had an omelete for brunch. it cost $7.50 and it was the worst omelette i have ever eaten. i truly believe that it is hard to make bad-tasting eggs, especially when they are cooked in a vat of grease with fried vegetables and served with nice bread and butter, but it was awful and i considered sending it back which, in my culinary career, is something i have never done. this, however, was a special case. the omelette appeared flattened by a giant timberland boot and the vegetables tasted like a duck pond. it was inedible. it broke my heart. despite all of this, i saved the receipt and i grabbed a business card on the way out.

which brings me to this.
have you heard about it? it's a traveling exhibit and people can donate things that remind them of relationships gone bad, like an axe or a blackened liver. at first i thought WOW, i totally don't relate to this, but then i remembered, WhatTheFuckEver, you have the largest psychotically captured memento museum of all. somewhere in a crawlspace in my childhood home lies a barely-post-WWII trunk with a large shoebox inside that may as well be a withered organ. the withered organ contains things that make you want to weep, like a little pink spoon from baskin & robbins and a birthday candle and several gatorade bottle caps that say things like "bulls in five," and mix-tapes and a finger puppet made out of newspaper and about 246 match books and 369 restaurant business cards. i don't remember the significance of about 98.4% of these things, but i'm quite certain they meant something at the time.

i guess i hold onto these things more for the breakup than for anything else. i sit indian style on my bed sifting through little scraps of paper, blubbering, "we shared an apple on that bench." "it was cold in that movie theater." "that omelette tasted like feet." it's not like i would save them if the relationship actually worked out. i sure as hell don't need that kind of fire hazard in 25 years. maybe i should have a little more faith, and stop hoarding scraps of paper. maybe i should donate the shit to a museum. or better yet, here.