How to make a perfect soft-boiled egg. Mystery solved.

Hello, awesome readers!

If you know me, you’re aware that I don’t like to spend a lot of time in the kitchen. This is because the kitchen is where cooking happens and I’m just not that good at it. The only time I enjoy the kitchen is when my someone is over and he’s doing the cooking. Then I’m right there with him, pouring him glasses of wine as though I never want the cooking to stop. What can I say? He’s good at it. He knows how to follow a recipe while I can barely make ice cubes.

Recently, I’ve taken to experimenting with eggs. Not to sound like an ad but eggs are versatile, healthy, and easy to cook up (when you’re not me). Specifically, I’ve been trying to figure out how to make the perfect soft-boiled egg. Sounds simple enough, right? Put egg in pot. Add water. Boil for X minutes. 

It’s that last part, the X that I’ve been struggling with. It’s like high school algebra all over again. (Where X equals Y and I have no idea WHY the alphabet is now suddenly sitting in math class.)

Here’s what happens when I try to make a soft-boiled egg. I put the egg in the pot, add water, and say, “Alexa, set timer for X minutes, please.” (Don’t judge me. I’m Canadian.)

Sometimes X = 8. Sometimes X = 12. Other times X = 15. Wrong, wrong, and wrong. And I’ll tell you Y.

There’s this room next to my kitchen. It’s where my laptop resides (most of the time) and it’s where I go right after I’ve asked Alexa to follow my algebra instructions.

“Oh! I have X minutes,” I say to myself. “I’ll write.”

And then my brain gets sucked into my laptop and I don’t even HEAR the gentle chime of Alexa’s timer. It gets lost in the background until finally I snap out of my state of mesmerized keyboard slaying, and jump out of my chair to save my stove and ceiling from exploding eggs. It’s awesome.

“Damn it! How long have I been gone?” I ask. Of course, Alexa doesn’t answer because she’s too busy punishing me for ignoring her. Tit for tat, whatever.

And then recently a very old and very vague memory with crinkled corners tip toed to the center stage of my brain. You know how memories work. They’re usually on shuffle with your fave play list at the forefront and then something you haven’t thought about in years slips into the mix.

In this memory I’m very young and my mother and father are still married (to each other) and my father is walking a pot of boiling water to the kitchen sink while saying, “Who drank all the gin? The eggs are still cooking.” (My memory may be paraphrasing.)

*Sound of record scratching*

And then just yesterday it dawned on me. The reason I can’t figure out X is because I’m not only losing track of time but I’m also not considering the steps it takes to get the pot to the sink. THE EGGS ARE STILL COOKING.

So now back at the drawing board, I’ve changed Alexa’s timer sound to something more aggressive and have come to the conclusion that X equals precisely 9 minutes and 47 seconds with a casual walk from my laptop to the stove to the sink.

As for, who drank all the gin? That’s still a mystery.

Wait! I’m not finished. I want to share some stuff with you. Continue reading.

Have you read my latest article on Yummy Mummy Club entitled, That time my daughter told me she’s having sex?

What? Well, then what are you waiting for? Click on the link above.

Have you ordered my recent book? You know, the one Oprah has been talking about. It’s called SUPERWOMAN: A Funny and Reflective Look at Single Motherhood. My, my. We’re a little behind, aren’t we? Oh! And after you order it (because you ARE going to order it, right?) please leave a review. But only if you enjoy it. 

And I’m kidding about Oprah. Half kidding. She’s not talking about SUPERWOMAN because she hasn’t read it. Yet. I know someone who knows someone who knows someone who thinks they saw Oprah in person once. It’s really just a matter of time.

✍🏻📚

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