"good morning — I'll take a dozen eggs, please," I said to sebastian, local farmer/purveyor of poultry and rabbit.
"sheeken or dook." he stated
"hmm? oh ... mmm ... chicken, please."
he reached into his cooler, drawing out a crate of eggs, which he opened to inspect. he lifted an exaggerated ellipse from its compartment, and pronounced nonchalantly that one egg would contain a double yolk.
in an (apparently) lame attempt at small talk, I proclaimed "hey! some people say that's good luck!"
silence. followed by an exasperated look, just short of an eye roll. "why on earth would anyone say that."
I heart french people. but lucky or no, my double-yolk egg was delicious.