I was thinking that after a month of them being gone, it was finally time to eat these eggs, and there was no better time than after exercising Sunday. Of the four cartons, one of them only had three eggs in them, so I started there. I eschewed the float test because 1) I thought it better to just crack them open and see if they were discolored or otherwise looked and smelled bad and 2) I had ideas of using egg whites an incorporating them into a couple cocktails I wanted to try. The third egg I cracked open had a runny yolk, even though I accidentally drove my thumb through the egg shell when I cracked it open, so I threw that one away. The other two looked and smelled and seemed fine, so I had them scrambled.
I knew I was in trouble a couple hours after I ate them when I felt bloated. A bit later, I let out a noxious fart. And then, about 90 minutes after I fell asleep, I was jolted awake by my body, which told me I needed to go to the toilet, immediately. My excretory system was barking at me so loud that I couldn't fall back asleep, and I had to make two trips to the porcelain throne, before I left for work and during morning break at work.
That's when I looked at the Julian calendar three-digit stamp on all the cartons. They were packed around mid-October and Halloween. The United States Department Of Agriculture says that eggs are good to eat four-to-five weeks after the packing date -- which means the eggs were good until, well, the time my folks left for the winter. And they told me I could eat them? Now, like I said, I'm sure I've eaten eggs well past this threshold and was fine. But after the episode I had yesterday/Monday morning (and I still feel slightly nauseous, which might be a sign my body is still fighting the salmonella poisoning), it would be stupid of me to even risk it. So I'm going to find a way to dump them in an organics pile in Minneapolis. Don't care if it's three full cartons of eggs. What, are my parents going to know?
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