I’m perplexed. Quelle surprise. The nature of my confusion is not of global concern, after all, this blog doesn’t consider existential thought* and the only string theory around here is whether using dyed-string to tie up a roast chicken will end in a Bridget Jone’s style soup disaster.
I’m now a simple farm girl but, once upon a lifetime ago, I was a scientist. I had an understanding of Krebs cycle, organic chemistry** and hemipenes. I’ve faced my fair share of conundrums since then. I’ve made my peace with my Catholic upbringing and my belief in evolution. I’ve experienced the exquisite frustration that is intensely loving someone who sometimes annoys the dickens out of you. Hell, I’ve even come to realise that sometimes I’d rather be happy than right***. Yet for all of this knowledge getting, I cannot fathom the answer to this botheration.
Dear readers, the sixty-four thousand dollar question is:
It’s all rather odd. I know why they’re warm and yet I marvel at their agreeable, equivalent-to-the-inside-of-a-chicken temperature. Once, I even encouraged the Little Sister to hold one to her cheek****. My wonder is tempered by my grasp of the physiology of a cloaca. It’s an interminable quandry.
That got me thinking***** about questions of global significance. Warm eggs are merely a paltry consideration when compared with the great conundrums of the world. If we put our heads together, we can get to the bottom of the big issues. Please tell me…..
what is your sixty-four thousand dollar question?
* I had to look up how to spell that.
** that’s a lie. I passed, but even then the bloody thing was a mystery to me.
*** In this context, sometimes means very very occasionally.
**** I cannot type that without making a face.
***** Fear not, this shouldn’t last much longer.