The Wondering Workshop

Israeli authors and poets creating in English

Egg Salad

Written By: Uri Lifshitz - Oct• 28•11

I wipe off the rest of the egg salad from the plate and let it drop into the trash can, just a few minutes after she leaves. That’s the way it is. You can’t tell someone that you don’t like something after they told you that it’s their best dish, especially not after they took the time and trouble to make it for you, just so you’ll have something to nibble before your busy day.  After I throw it into the trash I close the plastic bag and tie it. Two knots. Then I put it into another garbage bag, this one dark. You can’t tell the woman you love that you don’t like her best dish. The one she made especially for you. Whoever says otherwise has never been in a long term relationship with a woman and if you’ve been reading carefully you can guess why.

I take a mental count of the costs. 25 cents for an egg. She mixes six of them in every batch she makes. That’s a dollar fifty right there. Add the salt and spices, that’s a few cents extra. The green onions and mayo I count together as 20 cents, I don’t know why. It comes down to around two dollars. Sometimes I add the time and effort. Hers for making it and mine for getting rid of it. Then it could start piling up to quite a sum. Still, I’ve never doubted that it’s worth it to make her happy.

I tell a friend about it over breakfast. He tells me I’m crazy. He says that basing my relationship on a lie would ruin it. I say that she’s more important to me than money or lying and that’s a better indication.

We’re both right I suppose.


You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.