Spells!

Actually, there’s no continuation there.  I literally can’t make an omelet.  At least not a classic French one.  I guess I was raised thinking what I was being served by my mom was an omelet, but it was actually somewhere closer to a frittata.  Not that I’m very good at making those either.

I mostly make flat, round, overcooked egg masses, and then stuff them full of parmesan cheese (and occasionally bacon).  And I love them mightily.  But I would never feed them to others.  Other people have expectations.  And judgement.  And judginess is not part of a well-balanced breakfast.

Although, to be frank, neither is whatever the heck it is I do to my eggs.