Angry Eggs

It was just one of those mornings. I just had nothing left on a bright and early Saturday. It had been a long summer-with my husband being away and with an extra two twin 7 year old boys in addition to my own two to love, entertain and well…serve.

School had just begun that very week and we were all dragging from the new dawn schedule and mad morning rush routine. And it was Saturday…. Even the cats were sleeping in. And then it happened…He asked, no begged, for a hot meal!

Now, usually my darling husband cooks breakfast on the weekends, but since I had somehow melted the base of our griddle during the summer (and somehow avoided a house fire), it was out of commission and so was he and his infamous pancakes!

“A hot breakfast? You’re kidding right?” I asked.

“Please!” he replied.

Stumbling out of bed, I slowly headed for the kitchen. Amused, I thought about his small and simple request. He is a great husband and really doesn’t ask for much.

I retrieved the eggs from the refrigerator and managed to find some remaining end pieces of bread (minus the mold) for toast. I plucked a bowl from the cabinet and cracked the eggs. I began stirring and then it happened.

Somehow, I just became angry. I looked around the house and noticed I was the only one up. It was quiet. I was tired. And now-I was mad. Selfishly, I wanted someone to just take care of me. I wanted to sit at the table and quietly read the paper while slowly enjoying a breakfast that was prepared by someone else and served- to me!

I whisked those eggs fast and furious. I over greased the pan and in they went. I didn’t even realize that I had set the burner on high.

“Eggs? I will give you eggs…” I thought. I threw the toast in the toaster and randomly turned the dial.


I began making the coffee and fed the cats, now slowly sauntering in, their second choice of canned food since I refused to reach into the back of the cabinet for the other! During this egg-stravaganza, I lost count of the coffee scoops as I shoved the filter back in. I turned the timer on for 20 as I passed the dryer not checking if they were actually dry and not wanting to have to take them out either. I ignored the dishwasher’s green light indicating the dishes were clean and needed to be put away.

Oh, so back to the eggs. Well, they were now a bit dry in the overly hot pan. You know, with the little plastic edges around them that you somehow mesh back into the fold. Smelling something burning, I glance over to see that the toast is well done. I grab some mismatched plates and scoop the plastic eggs and well done toast onto the plate.

About that time, my handsome husband walks in and says, “What’s for breakfast?”

He gets his coffee and we make it to the table right at the same moment.

“Here’s your breakfast…” I say.

He looks at the breakfast, looks at me and sits right down. He ate every last bite of his breakfast out of appreciation, but mainly from fear.

As the girls and I were enjoying our usual bowl of oatmeal and English muffins, I asked, not even looking up, “How were your eggs?”

“My angry eggs were just fine.” he replied.

Later, we laughed about it. He has had angry eggs before and probably will again! Meanwhile, he will be heading to Walmart this week to replace the griddle. He will enthusiastically prepare breakfast for me next weekend and I will tenderly pack his lunch this week.

In marriage and life, it really is all about the simple things. Simple things can lift you up or take you down. They are small actions with large messages-and you often don’t have to look far or hard to see or understand them. So often, they are right there in front of you speaking volumes…just like the angry eggs.