No, kiddies, we are not getting a divorce. If our family stayed intact and our marriage survived the day my husband decided to pickle a bunch of eggs, Covid 19 will not kill this relationship. But, let it be known that I have a major survival tip when it comes to surviving this social distancing thing that has us cooped up like the chickens that laid all those eggs.

DON’T PICKLE the EGGS ever again.

I just puked a little in my mouth thinking about that gut stinging stench. You know what it tastes like? The cinnamon raisin bagel I had for breakfast. Not an f-ing pickled egg.

Listen, I know I might sound harsh. I feel like I literally owe my life to my husband who has nursed me through some very difficult times. I know he was just being resourceful. But, we must learn from his mistake. No matter how many eggs you have that are about to expire and do the stanky stank, do not pickle them! Not now. Not ever.

If you are one of those people who stands over the sink at night pillaging your kid’s lunch box for a leftover tuna salad sandwich so you can brown bag it at the office tomorrow because you just can’t stand the thought of wasting food, I am definitely talking to you. Before you think you have to be thrifty and save all the eggs please do this…

First, ask yourself why you have an abundance of eggs. In our case, it was because I could not stand the sight of them, taste of them, nor the smell of them at that point in my cancer treatment. I was not baking, eating, cooking or interested in looking at food. So, the egg inventory had built up.

Second, ask yourself who the hell is going to eat the 24 eggs you pickle. Let me answer that one for you. It will be you and only you, sulfur breath. I know, I know. You will argue that you see pickled eggs on the counter at the quickie mart where you get gas. Oh, ok. They have great food there…

You will say that big ova filled jar means pickled eggs are popular. Um, no. Those things have probably been there since the Clinton administration and there is no way to prove that they haven’t since they are pickled and seemingly in the same dusty jar day after day.

But, don’t fret my frugal one. My socially distanced mind can think of dozens of other uses for buckets of eggs that do not pain ones dried up mucosa linings with pickling.

Make meringue. Egg is your enemy. Do an egg toss. Run with them on a spoon. Prepare pudding. Blow them and decorate. Freeze a frittata. I don’t know, isn’t the latest and greatest sex toy shaped like an egg?

I don’t care what you do with your eggs. Just don’t pickle them or you can bet you will be in a quarantine pickle and walking on the shells in a special sort of social distancing hell.


Krista Genevieve Farris has been spending this spring in her old Victorian house in Virginia that has six times as many doors than people inside. In addition to the no pickling rule, her mantra these days is “whatever you’re doing, if in doubt, close the damn door.” Closed doors can save relationships. Links to her writing can be found at her writer’s website.


Krista's spirit animal is a Mountain Feist Pomeranian mix with a touch of capuchin and sidewalking crab. She is often found exercising, gardening, cooking or wandering while mentally working through writings. She makes excuses to dig in the dirt, figuratively and literally. But appreciates the sterility of the sparkling clean exercise studio where she has led fitness classes for two decades. She has degrees in cultural anthropology and puts those to good use by being human and writing about it. She believes good stories help create honest relationships and loves to hear what's up. A mother to three sons who are entering late teenhood and early manhood, she realizes homeostasis requires constant change and she is cool with that.

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