Saturday morning, I woke up at my boyfriend’s house and left to go grocery shopping for gingerbread cookies (I was making Star Wars-themed gingerbread men for a bake sale at the animal humane society).
I didn’t expect the ingredients to cost too much (all I needed was ginger, clove, something called unsulfured molasses, and few other odds and ends). 63 FREAKING dollars. But I paid it, because it’s for the animals. Fine. I should mention I overdrew my account the previous day… luckily, it had been pay day.
When I got home, I set about making myself some breakfast–just your simple over-easy eggs and bacon. I took the bacon out of the freezer, put it in the microwave to defrost, and set the eggs on the counter. Two cartons had been in my fridge, one that expired on November 27th, and another that was best by December 1st. I threw away the first and decided the latter couldn’t be THAT old. It may not be “best” anymore, but it had to still be good, right?
While I was surveying the eggs, little did I know, I had forgotten to press “defrost” on the microwave… so, essentially, my bacon was cooking, inside its plastic, in the microwave. As luck would have it, I caught it before the plastic melted into the meat and spoiled the only thing I had to eat that morning. The bacon was still mostly raw, but a bit scorched on the edges. Great. So far, I’m feeling REALLY on top of my game. I got this young adulthood thing down.
I started cooking the bacon, and by the third batch, a lot of grease had accumulated in the pan, so much so that I figured I better get rid of some unless I wanted fire-grease to the eye. I took the pan off the burner, and began to pour its contents into a small glass. WELL, FOR ANY OF YOU VETERAN CHEFS OUT THERE, YOU PROBABLY KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN EXTREMELY HOT GREASE MEETS GLASS. It shatters. Into pieces. In my hand. So now, my hand covered in hot grease and glass, I decide to sing the word “shit” and tend to my fuck up. Did I mention a little bit of hot bacon grease went down the drain? It did. I can only hope there is no permanent damage. I hope the same for my life in general.
After that, I decided to endure the scorching grease that popped and sizzled, sending globs of fire onto my skin and face as I finished the bacon. Needless to say, I’m not happy at this point.
With the bacon done (did I mention I burned a good half of them?), I set about making my over-easy eggs. FOR ALL OF YOU WHO KNEW HOT GREASE KILLS TEMPERED GLASS, YOU PROBABLY KNOW EXPIRED EGGS DON’T MAKE COOKING THEM VERY EASY. Let’s keep this short. I cracked the egg, opened it over the pan, and the contents splattered onto the surface with a sickening plop; the yoke had broken and now covered the entire pan. Its sizzling laughter mocked my orignal desire to have over-easy eggs for breakfast so I could dip my crispy bacon in the hearty yoke.
Fine. I’ll make scrambled.
I sat down with my plate of two eggs and bacon that had caused far too much physical and emotional strain, and took a fork to the scrambled mess. On first bite, I knew I had made a mistake by assuming the expiration date was a loose discretion. THEY TASTED LIKE SHIT. So, ignoring the eggs, I chewed on my bacon and watched Jane the Virgin to forget my sorrows. But you know what I learned?
Lesson learned: Expect nothing. Life won’t always go as expected, but that just makes it more real. Besides, mistakes make for lessons, and I’m all for that. I now know how not to properly dispose of bacon grease. And that Netflix cures everything.
As for the gingerbread men, they were a beautiful success. Took me a good five hours, and there were a few hiccups with the dough thawing out too quickly, but I have to say I was quite proud upon finishing. And though I wasn’t there to witness their distribution at the bake sale, I like to believe they brought a smile to kids, pets, adults, and Star Wars fans alike.
Speaking of cute Darth Vaders, look at this kitten I met…