Setting: A cozy kitchen in a small town near Stuttgart, Germany. It’s a sunny Sunday morning. Stefan is making coffee, while Jonas walks in holding a fresh egg.
Jonas: (wide-eyed) Stefan! You won’t believe what I found in the coop just now.
Stefan: (sipping coffee) If it’s not a golden egg, I’m not impressed.
Jonas: One of the hens laid an egg. Today. On a Sunday.
Stefan: (mock gasp) Oh no. Call the priest. The apocalypse is upon us.
Jonas: I’m serious! You know what Oma used to say—“If a hen lays on a Sunday, someone in the village will fall ill or lose money.” It’s a bad omen.
Stefan: Jonas, your Oma also believed that putting a broom upside down scares away burglars. Some of these old sayings are just… colorfully creative.
Jonas: Don’t mock it. That hen hasn’t laid all week, and now suddenly—bam! Sunday egg. There must be something off. I’m not eating that one. Maybe we should bury it.
Stefan: Jonas, it’s not a cursed relic from Indiana Jones. It’s an egg. A regular, calcium-shelled protein capsule. Nature doesn’t take weekends off.
Jonas: But it’s not natural! Chickens are supposed to rest on Sundays, like good Christians.
Stefan: Chickens are atheists, buddy. Or at least secular. They lay eggs based on daylight cycles, not church bells. Their internal clock is ruled by melatonin, not Matthew 5:14.
Jonas: (half-laughs) You always turn everything into a science lecture. I’m just saying—last time a hen laid on Sunday, my washing machine broke the next day. Coincidence? I think not.
Stefan: That washing machine was 15 years old and sounded like a tractor in a tunnel. It was begging for retirement. Don’t blame Helga the hen for it.
Jonas: Okay, but remember Frau Klug from across the road? Her hen laid on a Sunday, and the next week, her husband lost his job.
Stefan: Jonas, that man was running a video rental store in 2025. Netflix didn’t kill his career—his calendar skills did.
Jonas: So you really don’t believe there’s any truth to these things?
Stefan: Honestly, I think people made up these stories to explain misfortunes when they didn’t understand how the world worked. It’s comforting, in a weird way. Like blaming eggs instead of admitting the economy’s tanking or your appliances are old.
Jonas: Hmm… I get that. But it still gives me the creeps. Like breaking a mirror or walking under a ladder.
Stefan: You mean walking under your ladder, which is wobbly and held together with duct tape? That’s not superstition, that’s self-preservation.
Jonas: (laughs) Fair point. But still, you can’t deny that weird stuff happens sometimes, and the timing is… suspicious.
Stefan: Sure, weird stuff happens. But our brains are wired to look for patterns, even when they aren’t there. It’s called “confirmation bias.” You never remember the Sundays when everything was fine, just the one where the microwave exploded and blame it on the egg.
Jonas: So what do you want me to do? Fry it up and risk seven years of bad luck?
Stefan: No, scramble it and get seven minutes of excellent breakfast. Add some chives. Live dangerously.
Jonas: (smirking) Alright. But if my bike tire pops tomorrow, I’m calling you first.
Stefan: Deal. And if the world ends, I promise not to blame the hens. Well… maybe just a little.
Jonas: I guess one egg can’t hurt. But I’m still keeping an eye on Helga. She’s got that look.
Stefan: If Helga ever lays a square egg, I’ll join your side. Until then, let’s eat.
[They crack the egg and make omelets together, laughter filling the kitchen as the smell of breakfast slowly replaces superstition.]
Science Vs Superstition 
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