Businessmen Are A Farce & Other Bathroom Cup Revelations
Another week on the train, another egg-scuse to kvetch about fellow commuters.
I have received an outpour of response from not one, but two of my parents’ friends in regards to an initial post outlining my commuter egg woes.
ICYMI, I was having a portability issue with “Eggs Z’Herbs”, my favorite iteration of hard boiled eggs thus far that are salted, peppered, and rolled in any herb(s) within grasp. On the first trial, I accidentally brined by eggs by salting them the night before and letting them sit in a plastic bag in the fridge overnight. This resulted in herby tears that dripped all over my Malibu Barbie pants.
Hark! Enter Kathleen, my guardian angel, who suggested that I try toting the eggs in small bathroom cups sealed with plastic wrap.
I remixed Eggs Z’Herbs with my mayonnaise-less Deviled Eggs, resulting in poultry balls stuffed with avocado hummus and injected with a shot of Sriracha. I rolled them in parsley, propped them up in individual bathroom cups, and sealed them with Cling Wrap to sit in my lunch pail in the fridge overnight. They got a quick crank of salt and pepper on my way out the door and moved on with Jesus/Kathy at the wheel.
No, this is not a male self-pleasuring mechanism, but my very SUCCESSFUL Deviled Eggs Z’Herbs that held their own inside of their little chambers of secrets. The parsley was a welcome element to balance out the Sriracha, accompanied by cucumber slices for added heat relief.
Taste: 👅👅👅👅— Avocado hummus was kinda weird, but Sriracha at 7 in the morning is a hefty slap in the sinuses to get the day going AMIRITE THRILL SEEKERS, AMIRITE?
Portability: 🚂🚂🚂🚂🚂 — These bathroom cups were a game changer. I was able to slide the eggs into my mouth hole like a jello shot without touching them with my gross commuter hands, PLUS they doubled as little garbage cans until I reached Penn Station.
Likelihood of Trying Again: 💁💁💁💁💁 — Thank you Kathleen. My breakfast thanks you.
Unfortunately, no haikus this week but I do have one concise statement to make.
GROWN-ASS BUSINESSMEN ARE A JOKE.
Sorry, Mr. Senior-Executive-with-a-Corner-Office-and-a-Treadmill-Desk-Propelling-you-Towards-Feigned-Credibility, but your Brooks Brothers suit does not mask crop circle pit stains accrued from high intensity Candy Crush training. Furthermore, iPads ≠ iPhones, and please see my prior footnote about aggressive keyboard stimulation.