It was the late 80's,  I had really big hair, a car that was older than I was, (a 1964 Plymouth Valiant), and a job working in the bank as a teller.  I was about 20 yrs old.

From time to time, we would have pot lucks at work and there is only one thing on this planet that I know how to cook so.....deviled eggs was on the agenda as my "intended" contribution. 

Marisa (Muh-ree-suh) was my roommate.  She is 3 years older than me and, at the time, was a full time college student studying to become a physical therapist.  She, being the more reasonable one, went to bed at a normal time for human beings.  I, on the other hand, have always been a night owl and have spent the better part of my life getting less than 6 hours of beauty sleep (well now....that explains a lot, guess I need 8 hours).  How many do you need for "skinny sleep"?

It was getting late, I still had to hard boil the eggs.  I put them on a full rolling boil and went into the living room to watch The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson (yes.....I'm THAT old).  We had a huge beanbag type thing that we lovingly refered to as "The potato".....because it was brown and round and looked like a huge baked potato.  I plopped down on "the potato" and got all comfy to watch tv and kill some time while my eggs cooked.  During this time, I likely pondered my plan B in the event that the stupid peels didn't roll off the eggs as they should, thwarting my efforts and eliminating any chance of praise for my eggs for which I have become known.  (HA!!).  Disclaimer: Sometimes they are great.....sometimes, not so much.   

It was 11:00 pm.  That's the last thing I remember.

Suddenly, I jolted from a dead sleep knowing something bad had happened.  I was in a state of confusion.  I didn't have a clue what time it was but Johnny wasn't on anymore.  I knew something was wrong.  My best case scenario was that I still had to peel and prepare those eggs in the midst of severe exhaustion.  

I went to the kitchen, it was only feet away.  All the lights were still on, the tv was still on.  Everything was as I left it (or so it seemed).

I went to the stove....there is the pan, still on the burner, only traces of water sizzling on the bottom of the pan.

Where are my eggs? 

I turned off the burner, went into Marisa's room, woke her up (kinda/sorta).  I asked her if she took my eggs off of the stove, she said, "no".  I didn't believe her since she was only partly conscious.  

I went back into the kitchen to ponder what actually transpired.  I had no explanation so.....I went to bed.  Oh....it was about 3am or so.  

The next morning, I tried once again to get Marisa to admit that she dumped my eggs but neglected to turn off the stove.  Nope.  She wasn't having it.  She munched away on her Grape Nuts with (probably low fat milk).  Yuck & yuck.  Grape Nuts are like eating bird gravel but Marisa was skinny and I ......well.....I wasn't.  Go Grape Nuts !!!!

We chatted about The Mystery of the Missing Eggs when all of a sudden, she points and says, "Oh....there's one."  We probably should have dimmed the lights and used a flashlight to further investigate like they do on the forensic shows because.......we found evidence of a few of them but I'm sure there are some that remain missing to this day.  

They were splattered on the wall, over the refrigerator, the ceiling etc.   We laughed so hard we couldn't breath.  They shot like missiles through the kitchen in the dead of night.  I told her that had she gotten up for a drink of water during the night, she could have been hit by a flying egg. 

1987-ish

It looked a lot like this but without seatbelts.

Similar to mine.

Dang girl!! This is not a good arguement for my desire to have perms come back into style.

It looked like this.