Dear Man at Gate B4 With the Floor-Kissed Hard-Boiled Egg

Dear Man at Gate B4 With the Floor-Kissed Hard-Boiled Egg,

Ciao, my loves. It is I, Sassy Sorentina, reporting live from the Savannah airport — a place I once believed to be charming… until today’s event unfolded before my innocent Italian eyes.

Picture it: I’m sitting at the gate, minding my own glamorous business, touching up my lip gloss, manifesting an upgrade, when suddenly — PLOP. Something white and oval hits the floor.

A hard-boiled egg.

Rolling.

Rolling.

Rolling… like it was auditioning for the Indy 500 of protein snacks. Four full feet of runway time.

And this man — this courageous, unhinged gladiator of questionable hygiene — calmly bends down, picks up the egg, wipes it on his PANTS (his PANTS, darling!) and then… ATE. THAT. MF.

Right there.

In front of all of us.

No hesitation.

No fear.

No shame.

I screamed internally. My soul left my body, went to the Delta Lounge, and refused to come back.

Sir, were you raised by wolves? Are you immune to salmonella? Do you have a health insurance policy that I would personally like to review?

I sat there in stunned silence, clutching my latte like a rosary. If the dirty-underwear-in-the-curtains incident at the Fairmont was my villain origin story, this was the sequel where I become the Joker.

Sincerely,

Sassy Sorentina 💋

(Currently reconsidering every life choice that led me to witness an egg tragedy at Gate B4)