It's All Her Fault
When we were growing up, my sister and I didn't always get along. No, that's not correct - we never got along. We were forever pointing fingers at each other and claiming, "It's her fault!"
Now that I'm slightly more adult, at least in years if not in behavior, I'm still pointing fingers. This time at J-in-Wales, who commented on Cookiecrumb's post of long ago, that she should put a dippy egg into her chip butty.
Dippy egg! And me with a box full of pastured eggs in the fridge!
I couldn't get to my toaster fast enough, to toast more of that wonderful bread, sizzle another slice of the killer Canadian bacon and gently fry one of those eggs in the same pan. I prepped the toast with a light scrape of mayo, assembled and took that first unbelievable bite.
If my sister and I had had something like this to eat, peace might have reigned in our home. Even if it always was her fault.