Egg on Her Face

When we moved to the country, I was pleased to find a neighbor who sold fresh eggs from her Rhode Island Red hens. The next day, our 11-year-old daughter announced that she needed a cake to take to school. I was sewing and asked her to make one from a mix. A few minutes later, she ran upstairs, very upset.

"I can't bake a cake," she cried. "The eggs are spoiled."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"They're all brown," she said.