On a Saturday morning in May, rise early, read newspaper, eat something, clean house.
At approximately 8:30 AM CST, put a dozen eggs into a 3.5 quart sauce pan, add water to cover. Place the saucepan on top of the range. Turn the temperature to low so as not to
break the eggs. Turn Jillian on to do Phase 1 of the Thirty Day Shred. Frantically shower and dress while realizing how late you are. Drive at 80 mph to Northbrook for a brunch and manicure with girlfriends. Drive back downtown to see the Picasso exhibit at the Art Institute with 10 bazillion Chicagoans before it leaves next weekend. Fly through Macy’s in ridiculous hope of finding something to wear to friend’s upcoming wedding. Find nothing. Drive to Oak Park to meet different girlfriend for dinner. Return to kitchen 14 hours later. Find shocking mess in kitchen. Neither eggs nor Calphalon saucepan have fared well during your excursions. Realize that 14 hours is definitely too long to cook eggs. No longer “hard-boiled”, perhaps “prehistoric” defines them now. Who would have thought that eggs, when exposed to extreme conditions, would explode into fragments and shoot so incredibly far? Clear onto the walls, smearing yellow goop every which way? And that the process would stink up your house, your building, possibly your neighborhood, for all eternity?
I would love to say that this is the first time I’ve left the stove on,
but it’s not. I’ve done it in Michigan, twice.
It is, however, the first time I’ve ruined a pan and endangered my building.
I’m taking the day off.