Fry that bad boy

I feel like this is my only safe place to write about my new pride, and albeit illegal, joy. Kev and the kids bought 6 chicks this summer while I was at a baby shower. They all knew it was their only chance. They texted me a picture of themselves at the farm store, allowance money and chicks in hand, fists pumping toward heaven. Ridiculous. Anyway, they've been a tremendous pain in the arse, what with the constant nagging of the children to feed and water them. Lately their water is totally frozen each day and I was starting to wonder if I would eventually wake up to them being dead. Not to mention they should be laying by now. This prompted me to wonder if all the little suckers were, in fact, roosters. I was on the verge of putting them in the paper for free. Oh yes, and they're illegal. We don't have enough square footage to allow for them. We decided we'd look for forgiveness rather than permission. Anyway, one of those little cheepers finally laid an egg. I feel so at one with the universe. I feel like my life has come full circle. I am raising something that can feed me. It's weirdly empowering. "I don't need the government and their oppressive laws! I've got guns and egg-laying chickens! Take that Uncle Sam!" Then we fried it and, after a frankly ridiculous amount of self-talk, I ate it. Amazing. It was like I was finally tasting what an egg was supposed to taste like my whole life. Anyway, that's about it. Just thought I'd share. If the others turn out to be hens as well, everyone's invited over for omelettes.