So.

I’ve been doing a little research on the whole scrambled egg thing.

Yes there is a scrambled egg thing! 

Where have you been?

So last week I was hanging out at Dingle Diner and the Nearly Perfect Husband was sliding-slash-scooping my scrambled eggs out of the pan onto my plate (because I like my scrambled eggs small and the grill doesn’t allow him to make them small enough and they make big egg clumps. Gross. And, hence, the frying pan.)

So he put the eggs on my plate and handed the it over with the salt and pepper and a nice, hot cup of coffee.

Spoiled? Me? No I’m not!

I only handed him my coffee back once (not enough cream) and I didn’t even mention the fact that he forgot my ice water,

The guy has it good.

Anyway, when he handed me my plate, I started to eat my eggs and some fell off on the counter (didn’t even ask for help cleaning it up from the Nearly Perfect Husband. See? Not. Spoiled.)… but egg bits fell on the counter and I used my finger to put them back on my fork.

Because you don’t even need a five second rule if you are in your own house and your food falls on your own table or counter (that would be your ‘bench’ if you are visiting from Australia or England where they do so speak another language and call it English).

I know because I had to learn Australian when I moved to Australia, or else I would have thought ‘going to the chemist for nappies’ meant to ‘heading to the corner drug dealer to score some oxy’.

I recommend immersing yourself in the culture of a place. It’s the best way to learn the language.

Also, Rosetta Stone.

The language software, not the actual stone (although who doesn’t need to decode the occasional Egyptian hieroglyph on the fly?)

But, though the real Rosetta Stone was indeed an impressive find, I was talking about the software.

That I didn’t use.

When I learned to speak Australian through an immersive cultural experience.

Where was I?

Oh ya. The countertop.

After I put my eggs back on my fork and ate them, I was thinking about etiquette (which dictates that I should not touch my food) and it occurred to me that you cannot eat scrambled eggs with decorum.

Little eggs. Big eggs. It doesn’t matter.

The accepted wisdom is that you eat eggs with a fork, right?

Okay, so let’s start with those of us (not me, but maybe you) who like their scrambled eggs  big.

So, your eggs are in big lumps and you stab one. Chances are it will probably break off half way to your mouth, or at least be annoyingly wiggly (thus having you worry that you stabbed too big a piece and something bad might happen. This feeling occurs if you are in a crowded breakfast situation, often with your boss, while on a business trip that involves a breakfast buffet).

If the big hunk of egg breaks half way to your mouth, not only is it embarrassing, but it could cause a splash when it falls – either into the other eggs on your plate, waiting for their shot at your mouth,  or – if you are my husband or son (either one) – the ketchup.

I know. Don’t get me stated on ketchup.

So you can’t eat big eggs, with decorum, because you might put all future possible work promotions at risk.  Also, even if you are not at a breakfast buffet with your boss, you totally risk a social stigma because you will be all stain-y wherever you go. This will cause people to wonder why you don’t really care about your appearance and, well, think that  you are possibly depressed.

Or homeless.

Which, let’s face it, maybe you are either (or both) of these things. But these stains are related to all that freakin’ scrambled egg etiquette, and not a chemical imbalance (or roof-over-your-head aversion).

Not that there’s anything wrong with either of those things.

But I digress.

And the small eggs? Don’t even get me started because those are the kind of scrambled eggs I prefer (teeny tiny ones, not too well done).

You can’t stab them. They are too small.

But the good news is that they are not very big so a few bits falling off don’t make a splash in the other eggs (or that dreaded ketchup). But since they fall off the fork all the freakin’ time, there is no possible decorum involved in eating these eggs.

Unless you shovel them into your mouth.

Which is totally what we have all been doing when no one is looking anyway.

There is no stabbing – there is scooping. And what is ‘scooping’? Oh ya, a synonym for shoveling.

Whether you eat your scrambled eggs with a fork, a spoon, or right from the pan with your wooden spoon or spatula (you know who you are), you are indeed shoveling the eggs into your mouth, most likely with your chin way closer to the plate than Emily Post would ever have said was okay, because there is no way to eat scrambled eggs with decorum!

But you know what?

Fluck you Emily Post!

I like my scrambled eggs, and I learned a long time ago not to order them while I am on a business trip having breakfast with my boss (or anywhere in public, really).

I eat my scrambled eggs at home.

At the Dingle Diner.

Where I can shovel them into my mouth without any decorum and the only entity disgusted with me is Fred.

Wait.

Fred has always been an Emily Post fan.

Emily Post wants me to eat my eggs with a fork.

Eggs fall off the fork.

And sometimes onto the floor.

Where….. Fred is.

Whoa.

Thanks for readin’.

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