Monday, February 06, 2006

Oeufs, I did it again.

My Family Crest Nothing vexes me like the golden honeypot that is the yolk. Why must this meniscus of melodrama mock me? Try as I might to keep the tasty payload in tact, I always invariably wind up tearing the slimy fabric and spilling its warm entrails all over the pan; therefore denying myself the future, decadent soppage with toast.
Farewell, sweet Yolk.

Should ever I preserve the flavorful bounty, much like the water strider preserves the surface tension of the lake, my success is far from guaranteed. Oh no. Some infernal distraction such as the invasion of a sovereign nation by the unclean hordes or the doorbell always sequesters my attention away from its intended recipient. I return to the skillet to find such an unwanted thing as a lump of coal in the Christmas stocking: an orange, solid mass of broken dreams. Folly!
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