Egg Salad

Today for the first time in my life I am making egg salad You see, today is an event that should be written in my baby book. Making egg salad is an event in my life. I have never liked egg salad. I have despised egg salad. I have had to fight my gag reflex to eat egg salad. Seeing egg salad on a platter of sandwiches has caused me to leave functions early because to me they have always been an indication of the classiness of the party. But today I am making egg salad. I believe I should mention my past history with egg salad. My first egg salad sandwich was eaten at church. I may have enjoyed it, I might not have. But the constant egg salad sandwiches that would follow this first one would be my undoing. They appeared at every church function. They appeared at baby showers. They appeared at funerals. And then they began to appear at home. I don’t believe my mother ever made us egg salad sandwiches ... I believe it was my father’s fault. You see, I grew up as a minister’s daughter. After every function at church or at the funeral home there would be leftover sandwiches, cookies, and squares. As one of the last people to leave, my father was inevitably handed a plate of food to take home; a plate of sandwiches with too much butter on them, or egg salad. With 6 mouths to feed on a minister’s salary it was a blessing, to me it was a curse. The sandwiches would appear in my lunch, for my dinner, for a snack. I grew to hate egg salad sandwiches. Yesterday at the zoo with my packed lunch, I smelled egg salad and it didn’t turn my stomach. In fact, it made me miss “Funeral Sandwiches” as we called them in our house. And so I decided to make some. I thankfully can say that the only scars I ended up with as a minister’s daughter are my hate for funeral sandwiches. Today’s step of making and eating them on my own terms is worth a note in my baby book.