Eggs have become a luxury these days, especially with kids in the house.

We barely eat them ourselves — they’re mostly for the kids.

But every time my mother-in-law, Andrea, came over, more eggs would mysteriously vanish.

Suspicious, I set up a hidden camera. And what did I catch?

Andrea stuffing eggs into her bag and walking straight to my neighbor,

Mrs. Davis — and selling them. For cash. Later, I casually asked Mrs.

Davis where she got her eggs. “Oh, your sweet MIL! She has backyard chickens and sells me eggs for just $4 a dozen!”

FOUR dollars. Andrea was stealing our eggs and running a side hustle right next door.

I was furious — but instead of yelling, I decided to teach her a lesson.

I spent over an hour hollowing out a whole carton of eggs, draining them completely.

Then I carefully refilled each one with a mixture of mustard and hot sauce.

As I worked late into the night, my husband James walked in. “Is that… mustard?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “It’s justice. Sweet, yellow justice.” That weekend, Andrea showed up as usual.

After greeting the kids, she headed into the kitchen, “just for a glass of water.”

I pretended to be busy helping our son with homework, but I had my phone open,

watching the live camera feed. She took the eggs.

Moments later, she handed them off to Mrs. Davis and returned like nothing happened.

That evening, I invited Andrea to have tea with me on the porch — with a perfect view of Mrs.

Davis’s kitchen window. We watched as Mrs. Davis started baking. Then — a scream.

She’d cracked one of the eggs, and the mustard-hot sauce mix had exploded everywhere.

Andrea jumped. “What was that?” she asked. Just then — a loud knock on our door.

Mrs. Davis stormed in, furious, hands covered in mustard. “Those eggs!” she yelled.

“They were filled with… with…” “Eggs?” I asked innocently. “Oh, you mean the ones Andrea sold you?”

Mrs. Davis turned to Andrea in disbelief. “You stole these from Rebecca?” Andrea’s face turned bright red.

“What did you do?” she hissed at me. “I think the real question is —

what were you doing stealing and selling my groceries?” I replied. Mrs. Davis was shocked.

“I told everyone at bridge club about your eggs!” she snapped at Andrea before storming out.

Andrea didn’t stay much longer. She grabbed her purse and left in a hurry.

When James came home and I told him everything, he couldn’t stop laughing.

“That’s what you were doing with the mustard? That’s evil genius level,” he said.

“Note to self: never mess with your groceries.” Andrea never brought it up again.

Mrs. Davis found a new egg supplier. And our eggs? They finally stayed where they belonged — in our fridge.

And every time I open the fridge, I smile. Because few things taste as sweet as catching a thief — with mustard