Burn a Boiled Egg ?

I missed a bullet……and a busted boiled egg !

I must be the only human being on this planet who can burn a boiled egg.
Sam, was trained young in the marriage. When he is at home, he does breakfast. If he does not do Breakfast, he would starve. He would boil my egg meticulously, in a scientific manner, as if he is doing an experiment in the lab , with an egg timer and salt in the boiling water, to stop it from cracking up , before he scoops it out into the colourful egg cups, that he has bought me through the years.

I am not a morning person, as I go to bed, only in the mornings . When Sam is not home, when I do surface, around mid morning-ish , I glide to the kitchen , with my eyes half shut, to do the boiled egg routine.

Candles on my birthday cake have dimmed my memory and I usually forget that a would-have-been-chick , is saying its prayers on my kitchen stove . Many hours later, when the smell of something burning reaches me, I rush, tripping in haste, to put off the gas , before it explodes in an uncontrolled , indecent and disgusting manner , splattering yolk and white, in random confusion on the Tilès of my kitchen. An Orthopaedic neck, prevents me from looking up , otherwise I would probably find it on the plastered roof of the kitchen.

Sam was away at Nammakkal, but mercifully, Saras Sinniah, my friend and classmate from our St.John’s Dermatology Days in London, was visiting with her medical student daughter, Aarti. We usually leave in the morning, after breakfast, to empty the shelves in the stores, as Saras comes on shopping sprees and I go along for the ride. Having a say in the choice of things bought, while watching someone else spend the money, gives me an adrenaline rush . And it is tax free.

Saras and Aarti smelt the burnt boiled egg and rescued it, to save me from a disaster scraping egg off the walls .

Yew !

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