I walked into the grocery store yesterday, feeling hopeful, and mostly sure I could afford a dozen eggs for my family. I was wrong.

It wasn’t always this way. I have memories from when I was younger — distant, blurry, and probably exaggerated, of eggs being a normal price. They were cheap, forgettable even. They were something you grabbed off the shelf without thinking. But those days are gone.

Now eggs sit in the store like tiny, oval-shaped status symbols, lounging in their little cardboard cradles as if they know they’ve made it. And the price tag? It should come with a warning. “May cause dizziness, shortness of breath, and spontaneous reconsideration of life choices.”

I stood in front of the display doing advanced mental calculations like I was competing in a state competition. I briefly considered getting chickens again, but it’s too late to start now and Chick Days at Tractor Supply don’t happen for another month.

A lady standing next to me sighed the way people do when they’ve seen too much. “It’s ridiculous,” she muttered. I nodded in solemn agreement. There are moments in life when words are unnecessary, when two people can simply stand together and acknowledge the crushing absurdity of reality. This was one of those moments.

It’s not just that eggs are expensive. It’s how expensive. If prices had gone up gradually, maybe we could have eased into the suffering until one day we turned around and eggs cost as much as concert tickets, and suddenly you’re standing in a grocery store, reminiscing about the days when breakfast didn’t require financial planning.

I picked up a carton, turned it over in my hands, and thought about all the things I could buy for the same amount of money. A used book. A decent meal at Taco Bell if I played my cards right. And yet, here I was, about to drop cash on something that chickens literally give away for free.

I hesitated. I could just not eat eggs. That was an option. But eggs are in everything from breakfast and baking to that one cookie recipe my mom actually trusts me to make without burning down the house. Could I really live without them?

I took a deep breath and placed them in my cart like I was accepting fate. The register beeped and my wallet cried out in agony. The cashier gave me a knowing look. No words were exchanged.

Just the mutual understanding that we were all doing our best in this economy.

Ruth Wiseman is a Woodland Park native and a dual-enrolled high school student attending Pikes Peak State College.