Scrambled eggs

Had the bell on the electric gate rung two minutes later, I wouldn’t have heard it from the shower. 

Fortunately, I was still dressed as I ran downstairs to push the clicker to let in our egg delivery man. At first I couldn’t understand the horror on his face.

Then I saw as the gate swung open it was crushing the eggs he had just delivered and shoved under the bottom of the gate as it moved back toward the wall.

Only two eggs were shattered while the rest survived being pushed.

In French he said, "Wait," and went to his car and picked out six more eggs from the large box of eggs on his passenger seat and put them in a carton.

“Mais, j’ai besoins de que deux,” I said, showing him that only two eggs were smashed. I didn’t mention they were dripping on my hand.

“Non, non, six,” he said.

He asked how to prevent egg smashing in the future. I showed him where to ring the bell and reassured him that we were almost always home.

“Ah, bon,” he said. “I will do that.”