I decided to bring eggs to work this week to have fancy eggs-poached-in-the-microwave breakfasts. Yesterday I nestled them on a spinach pillow inside my lunch bag. I worried about them breaking and oozing all over my lunch all the way to work. See, Seattle’s bike lanes are riddled with seams, cracks, man-hole covers, pour-over fixes, and potholes. As it turned out they arrived just fine. Color me EGG-static! 
EGG-cited to take in all my eggs for the rest of the week, I placed them in a plastic egg carrier used for camping. Because it’s for travel, right? I heard my eggs rattle with every bump, lump, and divot I ran over. LOUDLY. The sound was EGGS-treme! I tried my best to navigate the smoothest path possible. But still, all I could hear was clunk, clunk, rattle, rattle, rattle, shake. I am not EGGS-aggerating here. A few miles in, I stopped to EGGS-ercise and tentatively checked out my eggs. I was a little scared that they’d all be cracked, but took comfort in knowing that they probably wouldn’t keep rattling so much if they were broken. One poor little guy didn’t make it. It was EGGS-plosive. I removed the unharmed toughies and put them back upon a bed of spinach in my lunch bag. The remains of the EGGS-iled weakling sat perched still in the plastic carrier, out of contact from the others. Rhymes of humpty dumpty filled my head the rest of my  ride into work. All the kings horse and all the kings men…

Fremont Bridge Bike Count: 209