Doubled yolked egg

I've been wanting to make lemon matcha swirled pound cake for a few weeks now, and decided yesterday was the perfect day to do so with the promise of beautiful weather over the weekend. So, after I got home from getting my oil changed I decided to do just that.

The ingredients I had on hand, the recipe was simple. As I gathered what was needed, I listened to the Avett Brothers, the Secret Sisters, and other artists that Pandora thought I would like according to bluegrass and acoustic folk influences.

I measured flour, baking soda and salt and sifted them together. I was mesmerized by the soft, silky flour as it fell in sheets to the mixing bowl below. The sugar was then added to a separate bowl. As it sat on the counter, I retrieved the eggs from the fridge, and thought to myself, "I've never cracked a double yolked egg."

The eggs were cold as I broke the shell against the side of my sink. The hard calcium build-up splintering with each hit on the hard stainless steel edge. I needed six eggs for this particular recipe, and as each one split open, the chilled yolk and white came plopping out of the shell. I broke open five eggs, all the same in size, weight and color. The sixth one was no different. It was no bigger than the rest nor did it crack differently. But as the crack became a spiderweb design across the middle of the shell and opened up, it was not like the others. Two yolks slid out from the hard mineral shell, but I was not looking closely at this time.

I gazed at the side of the bowl as the yolks and whites and sugar were slowing sinking in with one another, and as the sixth one slid out something caught my attention. I looked in the bowl and counted the yolks. One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six...Seven? I knew I only cracked six, my egg carton was divided down the middle.  Two of the yolks looked different, they were smaller, a little more vivid than their comrades, and joined in the middle. It was a double yolked egg.