The Egg Heist: Part Two

After the great mustard incident, things settled down—at least for a while. The eggs stayed put, Andrea avoided eye contact whenever she visited, and Mrs. Davis never mentioned eggs again.

But then, a new mystery began.

One evening, as I was unloading groceries, I noticed something odd. The new carton of eggs I had just bought that morning was already half-empty.

Now, I knew for a fact that I hadn’t used them. James hadn’t made breakfast. And the kids? They preferred cereal.

A chill ran down my spine.

Surely, Andrea wouldn’t dare try again after what happened last time… right?

I checked the hidden camera footage, my heart pounding.

And there it was.

Andrea, once again, sneaking into the kitchen when she thought no one was looking. But this time, she wasn’t just taking eggs. Oh no. She was stuffing butter, a wedge of cheese, and even a handful of grapes into her purse like some sort of chaotic food bandit.

I stared at the screen in disbelief.

This woman wasn’t just an egg thief. She was running a full-on grocery heist.

I knew I had to step up my game.

Operation: Sticky Fingers

That night, after everyone went to bed, I got to work.

I carefully glued every single egg in the carton to its holder using a thin layer of super glue. Not enough to make them unbreakable—just enough to make them stick.

Then, I wrapped the butter in clear plastic film so tightly that it would take a Hercules-level effort to open it. Finally, I sprinkled a light dusting of cornstarch onto the grapes, giving them the appearance of having gone slightly bad.

The trap was set.

The Next Heist Gone Wrong

That weekend, Andrea came over as usual. She greeted the kids, gave them each a piece of candy (a weak distraction attempt), and then, as expected, she made her way to the kitchen.

I pretended not to notice.

Minutes later, I heard muffled grunts from the kitchen.

Then, a frustrated whisper:

"What the…?"

I turned just in time to see Andrea struggling with the eggs. She had pried one up with both hands and was trying to shove it into her purse—but it wasn’t budging.

Her frustration mounted. She yanked harder.

Then—

CRACK!

The egg exploded in her hand, yolk dripping through her fingers and into her purse.

She gasped.

Then, she grabbed the butter and tried to unwrap it—only to find it impossible. She clawed at it in frustration, mumbling something under her breath.

And the final straw?

She reached for the grapes, only to freeze when she saw the strange powder coating them.

She stared at them in horror, sniffed one, and then dropped the entire bunch like they were toxic waste.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Andrea quickly wiped her hands on a dish towel, closed the fridge, and rushed back into the living room like nothing had happened.

But I saw it all.

The Confrontation

That evening, as she was getting ready to leave, I casually leaned against the door.

“So… did you enjoy your shopping trip in my kitchen today?” I asked sweetly.

Her face turned pale.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered.

“Oh, come on,” I said, folding my arms. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice? First the eggs, now butter and cheese? What’s next? My entire fridge?”

She shifted uncomfortably.

“I was just… borrowing a few things.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? Were you planning to return them after you sold them to Mrs. Davis?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. She had nothing.

James, who had been sitting quietly, finally spoke up.

“Mom,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “why are you doing this?”

Andrea sighed dramatically, as if she were the victim.

“Times are hard! Eggs are expensive! I was just trying to make a little side money—”

I cut her off.

“By stealing from your own family?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I didn’t think you’d miss them.”

I let out a short laugh.

“Well, Andrea, let me make this crystal clear: If you ever take so much as a single grape from this house again, I’ll make sure the entire bridge club hears about your little ‘business.’”

Her eyes widened.

“You wouldn’t.”

I leaned in slightly.

“Try me.”

She huffed, grabbed her purse (now containing an egg-soaked wallet), and stormed out the door.

The Aftermath

Andrea didn’t come over for weeks.

When she finally did, she sat stiffly in the living room, hands folded neatly in her lap, and didn’t once glance toward the kitchen.

Mrs. Davis, meanwhile, must have found out about the sabotage because she started giving me the dirtiest looks whenever we crossed paths.

James? He just shook his head whenever we brought it up.

“You really scare me sometimes,” he admitted one night.

I just smiled.

“Good. Keeps you on your toes.”

And from that day forward, the eggs?

They stayed exactly where they belonged.