Being the sturdy mountain woman that I am–I went with Daney-boy to the store–when I should probably have been resting. After all…Lortab makes one a bit sleepy sometimes but the guy did the driving so it was good. ANYway, we found this adorable little egg pan that seemed just perfect for making Bagel breakfast sandwiches. So, of course we bought it.
I brought it home and tore the label out of the inside of the pan and proceeded to cook my perfectly round fried eggs. It was just lovely. A wonder to behold.
But then Dane hollered in, “How’s your pan doing? It kinda smells funny.”
I hollered back, “It’s doing fine and no it doesn’t. It smells wonderful, like a beautiful fried egg.”
Just then, there was a puff of smoke and a tiny flame shot out from under my cute little egg pan. What the…?
How was I suppose to know that there was another label UNDER the pan? Huh?!
One label is certainly enough. Two is just silly…and I can’t possibly be the only person who thinks so…or who nearly set the kitchen on fire as a result. Sheesh.
The egg–cooked under extreme duress, was still quite tasty despite it’s sordid beginnings.
Is the room is starting to spin?
I’m taking a nap. 😕