Today in my teenage angst an egg exploded in my face. I hadn't fried eggs in forever. I watch far too much of the Food Network and had convinced myself I could cook the perfect, quintessential fried egg. I was nearly there, about to flip to perfection and it popped. I gasped.
When I was younger the boys in my class would sneak up behind me and slam textbooks by my ear. I jumped, screamed, gave them the exact reaction they wanted. Time took the surprise away as well as my tendency to jump and scream. Now I flinch and gasp.
I gasped. Tiny, hot bits of egg were burning my forehead, eyebrow and spotting up my glasses.
No perfect egg for me today.