Gregory vs. The Eggs

Today is my fourth wedding anniversary and I'm about 5500 miles away from my husband. After I moved to France, I never thought that I would be doing the whole long distance thing again, but here we are; me at my mother's house in Texas and Gregory currently at this exact moment, somewhere on the road between Toulon and Clermont. C'est la vie!

In these past four years of marriage, I've learned a few things. One being that it is important to learn to love each others quirks. Take for instance Gregory's quirk of being a horrible cook. I'm talking beyond bad, ridiculously bad, barely capable of boiling water bad. I could let it bother, frustrate or irritate me beyond belief because for the next fifty years, I'm on dinner duty, but instead, I choose to sit back and enjoy the carnage. And today it gives me great pleasure to allow you to do the same.

The backstory: On a Sunday morning not too long before we left The LPV, Gregory declared he was going to make an omelette. I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Then he said, "no, not an omelette, just eggs, normal."

"What's normal?" I wanted to know.

"You know, in the pan." Apparently Gregory was going to make fried eggs.

I watched him for a few seconds, I din't want to intercede, but when I saw him turn the stove up to ten, the highest setting, I had to step in. I reached over and said, "I'm just going to turn this down."

He let out a small huff and puff.

"OK, I'm going to stand over here and not say anything, but if you want any help just ask." I said.

Another small huff and puff slipped out so I stepped back and let him get on with it, but not before realizing that I would be a fool not to capture the moment (you know, for educational, culinary purposes) and this is what happened...




Despite his ridiculous lack of cooking skills, I would give anything for him to be here in Texas with me right now. I'd even eat those eggs.
Bisous!





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