I thought it kind of my friend to leave those chocolate eggs in my fridge. She had needed a place to crash for a while. Since I was out of town, I offered up my place, provided she didn't go around snooping through my porn stash or crack needles. (I kid, I kid!)

So one day, after she departed and I returned, I poked through my kitchen for something to eat. I had an attack of Mr. Munchie and his cohorts. My appetite didn't call for anything substantial though. Just a morsel of pepperoni would have sufficed.

Then I discovered the tray of chocolate eggs in my fridge. Six in total, two columns, three rows, neatly arranged.

I pulled the tray forward. They were light brown with tiny brown specs. Looked yummy! My tummy growled. I picked one up and popped it in.

As I rolled it around in my mouth, I grabbed the milk. I always like milk with my chocolate. To me, they go together like leather and spice, summer and ice, ebony and ivory, living together in perfect harmony.

With the milk in my hand, I slowly bit down on the chocolate egg. It was hard, probably frozen from being in the fridge for so long. My mastication muscles carefully exerted strength. I squeezed tighter. Finally, the hard shell broke.

A cool, oily, viscous liquid poured into my mouth. I thought to myself, "that chocolate egg doesn't taste right…"

I stopped in mid-bite. The liquid sloshed around, rolling under my tongue. It hit all the wrong taste centers. Especially the salty ones. The shell also crumbled into brittle bits.

My eyes suddenly popped like balloons exploding with too much oxygen.

I ran to the sink and spit out the slimy chocolate egg. Tiny chips of light brown followed a pool of clear fluid. Also, out came a bright yellow yolk.

I stared at the yolk for a moment. It floated around the bottom of my sink. Staring back up at me with equal shock.

Hacking and coughing and spitting out every drop of saliva in my mouth, I forcefully voided my cheeks of every spectacle of that awful taste. Bleeech!

I gargled water and swished it violently to and fro. My fingers scraped my tongue 'till it was a slab of tender raw beef. But still, that taste lingered, both in my mouth and in my mind.

Into the bathroom I dashed. I whipped up a slab of toothpaste and scrubbed my tongue good. The stiff bristles ripped without mercy. It hurt, but it was a necessary hurt.

After several minutes, I relaxed. The taste was gone. So were my taste buds.

Sweaty and defeated, I retreated to the phone and dialed my friend. "Um, you know those chocolate eggs you left in my fridge?"

"What chocolate eggs?" she asked. "I didn't leave you any chocolate. I gave you some quail eggs though."

I almost dropped the receiver. My tongue throbbed. Quail eggs. So that's why the chocolate egg didn't taste right.