The last time my boyfriend boiled eggs, he boiled every egg in the house the night before I was supposed to make a cake. When it came to cake time, which I was super excited about, I tried cracking an egg into the bowl and it… well, it was hard boiled. To make matters worse, it was ANZAC Day that day, which is the one public holiday in Australia where basically everything of significance is shut, so I COULDN’T EVEN GET NEW EGGS.
I just wound up eating the egg.
My boyfriend embarked on a quest to ask the neighbours if we could please borrow an egg because I was making a cake and he boiled them all. (He complained that telling them he boiled every egg in the house made him sound crazy and I was like “Yeeeeaaaahh… funny, that. But that’s LITERALLY what you did.”)
Fast forward to yesterday, when my boyfriend boiled a whole bunch of eggs again. This morning I decide to have one for breakfast, because boiled eggs are delicious. I take it out of where we keep eggs in the fridge, smash it on the bench top to crack the shell aaaaaaand…
It wasn’t a boiled egg. It was a regular egg. I smashed regular egg all over the bench.
I love this man, but I just can’t trust eggs in this house anymore.