Let me make this clear: I hate eggs. I mean, really hate them. My parents tried every possible omelet, casserole, cute little animal shape to get me to eat eggs as a child. No luck. Still made me gag.
Then, I married this extremely handsome, charming, loving boy... who feels it necessary to eat an egg sandwich... everyday... of the week... rain or shine... so gross. One time, early in our marriage, he asked me to make him one of said sandwiches. I realized in that very moment, as a 24 year old, I had no idea how to make an egg. I mean, I had never had a reason to make one. (Now 14 years later, I can rock an egg for any spur-of-the-moment-we-have-nothing-in-our-fridge-dinner.)
Then, my friend Jennifer introduced me to the Strata. A layer of your favorite bread, topped with sausage, onions, garlic, peppers, and lotsa cheese. I CAN EAT EGGS!! Holy crap! I'm a real adult! I have a breakfast...thing... item... possibility... other than a cereal or a granola bar or yogurt. I have graduated from the kids table! No more Mickey Mouse waffles for me. Well, maybe one or two. But only AT Disney and covered with a fruit topping. That makes it waaayyy more adult.
It is now my go-to meal to take to someone. Birth of a baby? Strata. Death in the family? Strata. Surgery? Strata. I mean, who doesn't love breakfast for dinner, right? I do now! I have an egg dish!
This new found love has empowered me to branch out. At a birthday brunch not long ago, I ate a quiche. Spinach and red peppers... and eggs. I enjoyed it so much that I ran to Whole Foods the next day and picked up one for my Bible Study. (They were appreciative that it wasn't Strata.)
But hold on, the craziest thing happened. I BOUGHT a piece of quiche. For myself. Only. No one else would share it. There was no one to finish it if I hated it. A highly priced piece, too. You know that when you actually start buying eggs. You discover that they are only $3 for a dozen of the free range, no antibiotic kind. Then why is it $4.95 for one piece? I digress...
I bought it. I prayed over it. I mostly prayed that I would like it, not gag and not feel completely pained that I spent that much on something that made me dry heave in public. I said amen- in my head- cause it's weird to do that out loud at Barnes and Noble in the middle of your writing group.
I took my bite.
Something felt very weird.
Something was wrong... and it wasn't the egg. It was the... FORK! What in the... it was wavy and crooked and broken..
Seriously! Isn't that just like the universe?