Scrambled Eggs

“You didn’t leave me any lunch, so I had to make lunch by myself.”

“What did you make?”

“Scrambled Eggs.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to keep my voice level in pitch and speed.

“Four eggs.  Two batches.”

“Uh huh,” I mused, trying not to let panic seep into my mind.

“The second batch came out milky.  The first batch was cooked too much.”

I tried not to gasp as the implication hit hard.

Would I ever erase the image of the gas stove being lit, I wondered.

The four egg shells greeted me in their broken state at the end of the school day.  A trail of dirty dishes started on the stove and meandered over the counter, ending near the sink.

But the gas was off.

Success!

Little did he know that this was the plan all along.

Independence.

Five days later and he’s made scrambled eggs almost daily.

How long will it take before he gets tired of the eggs and needs to learn a new dish?

Time will tell.