I understand the concept of the junk drawer and welcome it in my life.
Every place I’ve ever hung my hats, I’ve had such a drawer — a place that begins empty and limitless and over time just collects the physical junk of my life.
Tacks, nails, and tools; tape measures and scotch tape; cords and Aloe tubes; lighters and batteries. Just junk.
Then today, while rummaging through my present-day junk drawer, I discovered this:
It’s not mine. I know this because I’m a man’s man and a ChapStick man through and through.
Thus the mystery: Whose is it and what is it doing in my junk drawer?
Most of the junk that goes in my junk drawer I remember — for the most part — putting in there. I might not remember the exact time or day, or for that matter why I tossed something in there — other than the fact it’s just junk — but this I think I would remember.
A green egg, full of lip balm, in my junk drawer.
The mystery, however, grows deeper when you consider my personal life.
Simply put, I don’t really have one.
I work 50 to 60 hours a week, mostly inside, so my lips rarely if ever get chapped. (And, like I said, when they do I turn to the twisting tube, not the twisted egg).
In the nearly eight years that I’ve lived in my current location I have had one woman — not including my landlord — walk into this apartment. Could it be hers?
It could be as I was rather drugged up the day she was here. And while part of me wishes I had some great story to tell you about a Hunter S. Thompson type of escapade in which I hired a hooker for a night of debauchery and fun, alas I can’t.
I was post-surgery last April and coming down off the anesthesia while rising up on the pain medicine the hospital staff had given me. This woman was just a friend who had driven me home and sat with me for the better part of the afternoon until I was clear-headed enough to be left alone.
So it might be hers. (She reads this, so she’ll let me know if it is and I can update, accordingly).
But there is the still the mystery of having absolutely no recollection of ever seeing this egg before this morning, photographing it with my phone and writing this blog post.
So how did it get into my junk drawer and why?
I did some research and found out that EOS lip balm is short for “Evolution of Smooth lip balm.” It can be purchased at any Walgreens — again ruling out the high-priced hooker from a drug-induced night of blackout fun that I simply can’t remember.
(Damn my luck.)
I also discovered, courtesy of snopes.com that, “Eos brand lip balm can grow black or green mold under some conditions.”
I had a mold problem in my bathroom once. Could the mold have invited more mold over and the egg rolled into my home in an all-out attack of infestation that I had nipped in the bud with some Tilex? The egg would have to hide out until it was ready to escape — perhaps even coming up with a mold-school escape plan, if you will.
The only other plausible explanation is a government bug. I owe the United States of America some back taxes, which I’ve been paying off via yearly payments called my tax return.
Perhaps the tax man cometh and planted it to keep an eye or an ear on me.
But there again it’s an egg, so it must be another kind of man, singing a song we all remember.
“Elementary penguin singing Hare Krishna
Man you should have seen them kicking Edgar Alan Poe
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen
I am the walrus, goo goo goo joob”
That’s it! I have found the explanation and it has a Hunter S. Thompson-like twist.
There were no whores leaving behind the wares of their trade. Mold spores would be a poor excuse and given the fact I live on the second floor there is no way for an egg to roll up a set of stairs. And, I’ve seen enough movies to know the government bug has been placed in the light on by my nightstand and not in my junk draw.
Thus, it was left behind by the Beatles, the night they came over and hung out without me.
Paul? Ringo? I have your egg.
Feel free to stop by anytime to pick it up.
Goo goo goo joob.