Sunday, April 06, 2014

The deviled egg is my original sin...

The deviled egg is the epitome of my original sin.  Totally.  Utterly.  Completely.

Picture some sort of multi-person gathering, where in a platter of deviled eggs is set out on the feasting table.  I will, unrepentantly and unashamedly, sidled up to the table, snitch a deviled egg, pop it in my mouth, and then discretely adjust the ones remaining on the platter so as to leave no evidence of my pre-meal theft.

Then I will do it again.
And again.
Until there is no way to hide my theft.

Fast forward to being seated at the table, with the commencing of the passing of platters.  My eyes are glued on the deviled egg platter.  I think mean and hateful thoughts toward anyone who takes a deviled eggs.  I cannot even speak of the thoughts I have for anyone who dares to take two deviled eggs for himself/herself.  They are dead to me, deserving of all the hell, fire, and brimstone that can be heaped upon them.

Once the platter reaches my hands, I quickly pop one into my mouth, after checking to see that no one will notice.  Then, I boldly claim three deviled eggs for my own, putting two together and sticking the third one all by itself, far away from the pairs.  After passing on the platter, I pop that third one into my mouth so as to leave my plate showing only two deviled eggs.  All the while, I am keeping an eye on the platter so as to mark its completion around the table.

Once the platter has made its circuit, I ignore all talk until I have gauged a sufficient enough time to ask someone to pass me the deviled eggs.  At this point, my plate is devoid of deviled eggs.  Once the platter reaches my hands, I again pop one in my mouth and place two on my plate.  Timing is everything.

I will pretend to be solicitous of others by lifting up whatever platter or bowl is nearest me to see if anyone wants seconds.  That way, I will secure a nearby resting place for the deviled egg platter.  And I will continue to stuff myself with as many deviled eggs as possible.

Should I not manage to clear the platter by the end of the meal, I will, during the "after" visiting, contrive to secure the remaining deviled eggs in some fashion. In fact, if I am certain deviled eggs will be on the menu, I will bring my own container.  I do not care that someone else made them and has the right to bring home his/her leftovers.  They are deviled eggs.  They belong to me.

[This is not a joke. I am not being facetious.]

If you visit me, I will not share deviled eggs.
The whole idea of I will make some for you and some for me goes out the window.
All deviled eggs are mine.

I have no mercy about deviled eggs.
I have no grace about deviled eggs.
I have no forgiveness about deviled eggs.


I am a sinner.
I am blinded by all truth when it comes to deviled eggs.
And, the fact is, I am not all that interested in being otherwise.

I have striven mightily against the culinary selfishness in me. I have learned to share Dr Pepper and chocolate and even stew.  I think, though I have not really had to do so yet, I could even share chipotle chicken chili.

I have no desire to learn to share deviled eggs.

When folk start going on about how humans are basically good, I scoff at them.  In my opinion, slavery, the Holocaust, current racial/cultural/religious genocide, and the fact that rape—rape even of children—is a favored weapon of war makes any argument about the goodness of human beings moot.

For me, it is deviled eggs.  I know my sin. I know the greed that ensnares me, consumes me, when confronted with a platter of deviled eggs when in the company of others.  At the core of this human being is a vile blackness that no light or work of mine can obscure.

I seriously wonder how it is possible to even think that I might have faith when I think and feel and act this way about deviled eggs.

I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!

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