Random thought this Sunday morning…. Dippy eggs.
Like ’em or hate ’em? No, seriously. I want to know.
Because I can’t fathom why anyone would knowingly partake in ingesting the filthy, slimy little wretches.
Obviously, I hate them.
They chill me to the core of my being. But my youngest son and my husband request that I serve them. OFTEN. Which is totally shiver-inducing.
But I make them anyway. See how much I love them? That is how you can measure the love your wife or mother has for you… she makes the horrific breakfast ANYWAY. (And then pukes in the toilet discreetly afterwards.)
I personally need my eggs to be dry-as-a-bone dead. Like, long dead. NON-SLIMY dead.
Yes, I am passionate about this subject. Probably a result of my upbringing. If I dig deep into my brain I will probably find a blocked memory containing one of my younger brothers torturing me with gooey, runny, half-cooked eggs. Evil little monsters that they were….
So what say you? Love ’em or hate ’em?