The Cheese Stands Alone

Today at my father's house I was trying to think of something inexpensive to eat. I went to the fridge, spied some eggs on the bottom shelf, and heard in my mind's ear the voice of Alton Brown whisper: "Eggs, like pasta, are a great way to use up scraps you might otherwise throw away." Thrilled by the idea of an omelet to go with the piece of pork tenderloin on the middle shelf, I set about sweating onions and chopping tomatoes, finding the Worcestershire sauce and the rosemary and grating the parmesan cheese. Everything ready, I at last started cracking eggs. The first one was blood red on the inside, with a mottled white and purple yoke that almost made me throw up. I threw it down the drain and quickly hit the disposal switch.
"My dad needs to stop getting eggs from Food Lion," I thought.
Determined not to lose my appetite, I picked up another egg and cracked it. This one was shit-brown with a mustard-yellow white that ran all over the counter. Gagging, I finally checked the carton and found out the eggs expired back in March.
Few everyday experiences are so upsetting as a failed cooking project. The onions and the tomatoes look pathetic in their bowl, waiting to be in an omelet that will never happen, like they've been stood up on a date. What point does this shredded cheese have now? Sure it can go back to the refrigerator and wait for pasta that may or may not be cooked later this week. Most likely it will go in the trash, and while it makes no sense to empathize with cheese, it's kind of where I'm at this morning.