“You ate them???”
Mo stares at her eggy plate.
“Not all of them…”
“Where are the others then?”
She holds his gaze defiantly.
“In the cake.”
His father had been right. When Joe said his girlfriend had a terrific rack, his Dad remarked that must be where she kept her brains, ‘cos they sure as hell weren’t in her head.
“Those eggs were the pride of my collection. Rare as hens’ teeth.”
She glances nervously towards the freshly-chopped almonds on the worktop.
“It’s a metaphor, Mo.”
“I thought they were just nuts…”
She’ll have to go.
Bereft of literary inspiration, I’m just making up the numbers this week. Sorry about this. 😦 Thanks to Rochelle for all her hard work on keeping the Friday Fictioneers on track and trundling on.