I hate cracking eggs. Whenever I need eggs for cooking I always screw up somehow while cracking them. Either I make a hideous mess or I get pieces of shell in the cooking or some combination of both. My girlfriend, on the other hand, can crack eggs quickly and flawlessly.
This is very handy when she’s with me but at the same time, it serves to highlight my incompetence. I know those bastard eggs are laughing at me. “Here he comes,” they say, “the so called Mr Angry. More like Mr Can’t Perform Basic Kitchen Functions. Let’s watch him screw up again.”
Smug bastard eggs. I’ll teach them. I’m gonna fry them up good. And the fucking frying pan is gonna be really hot. I’m gonna fry up eggs I don’t even want to eat. Just to stop them laughing at me.