Mom has now told me how to make hard-boiled eggs at least three times, but because it takes about 20 minutes to prepare, I seldom make them for breakfast when I’m at her place. (Getting out of there before all hell arises is paramount.) Instead, I typically cook them at my house, bring them over, and then, if necessary, reheat them a bit in her microwave. She has never complained about the eggs I’ve made. Yet I’ve been told over and over again EXACTLY how to make hard-boiled eggs, and I have to admit that the instructions never mention anything about a microwave or my house. This morning, after I finished taking her to the doctor to have her foot scraped—where she once again told the doctor she didn’t think she needed to come by to have the treatment fortnightly and the doctor again warned her that we don’t want her back in the hospital--mom asked me to drive to Macdonald’s for a coffee. I should have known what the morning was going to be like because, though she liked the coffee, she complained about the price and the cup it was in all the way home. On our way to her house mom asked me if I had had breakfast. Given the mood I knew she was in I should have lied, but instead I told her I hadn’t eaten yet. She then asked me if I would have breakfast with her, and I foolishly agreed. When I asked her what she wanted she told me anything would do and specifically mentioned Cream of Wheat or Cream of Rice. I said “Fine. We’ll have Cream of Rice.” At this point mom’s desires evidently crystallized because she suggested a hard-boiled egg. But since it takes about 20 minutes to prepare, and as I mentioned before, I seldom make them at her house and I was in a hurry to take care of a number of morning errands anyway, I told her I would make them and bring them over for breakfast when I came by tomorrow morning. It was at this point that she denied it would take long to make the egg, and, as I mentioned before, I had to endure the inane lecture on “Exactly How to Make a Hard-Boiled Egg” for at least the third time. I guess mom doesn’t see that even a complete moron would be able to make a hard-boiled egg after one abbreviated run-through, or, more likely, she thinks I am somewhat below the complete moron category and needed yet another lecture on the subject. What she doesn’t seem to be cognizant of is that if I never make another hard-boiled egg for her, she doesn’t get one. There is a moral here somewhere: Never insult the chef!
Posted on: Wed, 07 Aug 2013 01:34:36 +0000
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