Fertilized Chicken Eggs

I’ve recently succumbed to a strange paranoia that only started after living on my own and having to cook for myself.

Fertilized chicken eggs.

Absolutely ridiculous, I know. Eggs bought at the supermarket come from hens who are never allowed within mating proximity of a rooster. Still, for some strange reason, I have now started to check the yolk of every egg I crack to look for signs of fertilization. It’s annoying and is a VERY strange kind of paranoia I have never experienced.

Apparently I’ve become an expert at trying to know whether an egg has been fertilized or not. A technique I initially used was candling. It’s basically shining a light through the shell and trying to find veins or signs of a developing heart. Ugh. But I wasn’t satisfied there, because even if the cells even divided a few times, I would not feel good about eating that egg.

So there’s no use but to actually crack open the egg.

And here comes another weird paranoia thing. I’m frightened by the fact that every time I crack open an egg, a half-developed chicken embryo will flop down onto my hot frying pan and start screaming to its death. I’m a bit squeamish, I hate touching anything alive that’s slimy, slithery, slippery. I’m deathly afraid of touching fish, let alone reptiles or insects. Don’t get me started on worms. But yes, back to the chicken embryo. I’m still afraid that it will happen someday and that by strange circumstances and fate and the alignment of the planets, I will SOMEHOW purchase a carton of eggs containing an egg that had been fertilized. SOMEHOW I manage to get that egg. Hasn’t happened, but I’m still strangely worried that it will, and that’s annoying.

So, what does this mean for me? Is it my subconscious telling me that I should stop eating eggs? I mean, I was FINE eating eggs before all this happened. Maybe I should go vegan. Wait, nah … that would be a LOT of work. And I don’t think I have the appropriate mentality right now to even attempt a vegan diet. Maybe some other time.

I guess it’s a subconscious way of me expressing the fact that I hate to be directly involved in the death of a higher-ordered living organism. Technically, it’s not really MY fault that the egg was fertilized, but still. To know that that egg could have possibly hatched into a cute little yellow chick is … pretty unsettling.

So, there you have it. My strange paranoia about eating a fertilized chicken egg. Here’s a wonderful site that explains a few things about fertilized and unfertilized chicken eggs: click! I’ve become an expert thanks to that site! Sort of.

Now, will I forever have this phobia? Probably not. I figure it’ll SIMMER DOWN a little bit over time. As they say, we should always try to face our fears instead of running away from them, so I’m going to go cook a bunch of eggs now. Bon apetit! (Yes, I deliberately spelled that wrong. Ape Tit is funny.)


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