Correspondence from my betrothed

You ask for one favor in life: Get eggs.
See, there are two groceries in our neighborhood. Three if you count the mini-mart that does not sell eggs. But the one we always use, Stop and Shop, was out of eggs. HOW ARE YOU OUT OF EGGS!?!?! my mind screamed as I stood in the dairy section. YOU ARE A STORE THAT SELLS EGGS!!!!
Then, my judgement clouded, I called Marcy and asked that she pick up eggs. I of course did not remember the other grocery, Foodmaster, probably had eggs and was, like, 200 feet away. But I made it all the way home and just shot an e-mail to Marcy. "Please get us some eggs."

Then I got this, in e-mail form:

Where am I supposed to get Eggs? I only drive by THAT stop and shop! I’m just going to have to find me a CHICKEN!! And yell at it! Hey chicken – give me eggs! Bryan has to make a casserole!! And he did not get eggs! Because he was not master enough to go to FOODMASTER!! Oh, but I am the master, and so I will go to FOODMASTER and get the master of all eggs and then I will master the miniscule drive back to our master domicile and present you with eggs from the FOODMASTER and then you will bow to me because I AM the FOODMASTER and all along you thought it was just a store!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!


Stupid Chicken.