Eggs

I usually make a pretty hearty-elaborate breakfast on Saturday or Sunday mornings. Sometimes I ask Alex what he wants or how he wants an item prepared to maximize happiness and contentment. His responses are almost always the same. Except for today.


Me: Hey honey? How would you like your eggs?

Alex: Proud, and pronounced with a teasingly running yoke.

Me: (Silently stare with head slightly tilted)

Alex: (Disappointed look and with pouty lips) Sunny side up.

Me: (pure laughter)



I suppose this is what happens when a husband watches too much Master Chef and a string of Jane Austen movies.