Guess I'm not having an egg this morning.

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Mostly because I’m an idiot.

You see… sigh. Dear Og, do I even want to begin to admit this… okay. Here goes. Ahem.

You see… I was boiling an egg in a pot on the stove, in usual manner one boils eggs. I like mine medium-to-hard boiled, so after the water got boiling, I let it go for ten minutes. I was quite looking forward to this egg, as it is the last egg in the carton, and I’d been saving a room for that last egg in my diet for the past couple of days. I really wanted this delicious egg.

So, the ten minutes is up, and when I look into the pot, I notice that quite a bit of the water has boiled off. “Hm,” I think. “Must have set the temperature too high. Ah, well.” And I take the egg out, run it under cold water so as not to burn my precious fingers, then begin peeling away the shell.

All is fine, until I take the last part of the shell off and… ewwww! Looks like that one side that the water boiled off of didn’t quite get cooked. It’s kind of runny and gooey. Blech.

What happens next is just… deep breath I can tell this, it’s so dumb I can’t even begin… no, okay. I can tell this.

Well, what happens next is a result of about a week ago, when I actually undercooked my egg in an attempt to soft boil the sucker. I failed, but didn’t find this out until after removing the shell, and ending up with a gooey mess. I showed my husband, and whined about not wanting to waste a perfectly good egg. He told me to cook it in the microwave for about 20 seconds. So I did. Meh. Didn’t really cook it. So I stuck it in for two minutes. It snapped and popped a little bit, but it cooked it. It wasn’t the most pleasant tasting egg in the world, nor the prettiest, but it was cooked. I ate it.

So, today, remembering how I’d cooked the egg last time, figured I’d just pop this beast in the microwave. Well, 20 seconds didn’t quite do it before, and two minutes was much too long. I’ll try, say, 40 seconds?

I peeked after 20 seconds, since this one wasn’t as big a mess as the previous one. Nope, nothing. I close the door and proceed with the nuking. 20 more seconds later, I open the microwave. There had been no popping or snapping noises this time. Maybe it was about done?

The soft side that had needed the cooking was turned away from me, so I yanked the bowl holding the egg from the microwave and peeked in. Nope, I need to pick it up. I pick up the egg and turn the soft spot toward me.
BAM!

I yelped like a puppy with it’s tail stepped on. The egg had blown up, in my hand, all over the place. I mean, obliterated egg, there is nothing left of it now but pieces scattered all over the kitchen, in my hair, on my glasses, on *my computer * screen which is (and I measured to be sure) 16 feet away from the microwave, as well as the window beside me, and I have a feeling it would have gone much further if the window weren’t in the way.

I had to get the first aid kit to attend to my burned hand, which is all on the palm, and hurts like hell. Now I’m ointment-ed, gauzed and taped up.

Sigh. I’m such a fool. I watch enough Mythbusters to know better than this. And to add insult to injury, I’ve now got that Frasier ending song stuck in my head.

Scrambled eggs all over my face!

Goodnight, Seattle, we love you!

2

hee.

Hee-hee…

HEE-HEE-HEE

You MEASURED the 16 feet?

Somehow that’s the funniest part, picturing you with this egg mess everywhere, and yet running to find the tape measure.

3

I can’t help it. I am, by nature, more impressed with explosions than I am worried about getting the damn messed cleaned up. I finally cleaned it all up, though very reluctantly, not out of laziness, but because I really wanted to show off the impressive trajectory to my husband when he got home. :smiley:

Also, I don’t run to find the tape measure. I keep one behind me as I sit at the computer at all times. I get very irritated when my husband tries to put it back in the toolbox. I can’t tell you exactly why; I’m just always measuring stuff. Like, for example, egg explosions. :stuck_out_tongue:

4

This thread sums up every single reason why you are the perfect internet crush.

5

I laughed to the point of tears…

6

Bwahahaha!

Oh … oh God … oh. It hurts.

I’m sorry – I’m not laughing at you. I am laughing because back in the early 90s, I can clearly recall sitting in my bedroom, hacking away at the computer, when without warning I hear FOOM!! It sounded like someone pitched a fastball straight into an air duct. I go out into the kitchen, where the sound appeared to have emanated from, to ascertain its origin. My father (whom I lived with at the time) was doing the same. He spotted it first – because as it turns out, it was his doing. Every square millimeter of real estate inside the microwave was coated with egg bits. Tiny egg bits. The shell was practically powdered.

My father had successfully test-fired his first egg grenade.

He was still fairly new to the whole microwave owner thing, and he hadn’t realized that placing a sealed vessel of liquidy food in a microwave was a rather bad idea – the nuances of thermodynamics having escaped him at that particular moment in time.

The punchline:

He wanted to microwave the egg because the last time he tried to boil eggs on the stove he forgot about them. The water boiled off, and they launched with a resounding pop!

My dad. He’s not a stupid man. He’s just a little forgetful sometimes. :smiley:

7

None of you watched Ham on the Street last night!?

They blew up a hole 13 eggs (and someother stuff) in a microwave! Makes me wish I had a microwave. sigh

8

Damn, Mindfield! That’s hilarious!

I managed to blow mine up sans shell. In my hand. That sucker was stable under I was stupid enough to hold the little warhead, jiggling it around. I’m glad it wasn’t in the shell, though, because that probably would have required another trip to the emergency room, and between my (now-non-existent-or-laying-in-a-biological-waste-pile-somewhere) gallbladder and the pleurisy diagnosis I got yesterday, I think they would start giving me discount passes or something. (25% off your next three trips to the Emergency Room! Bring a friend!)

Come to think of it, I’m probably very lucky to have been still wearing my glasses. Normally I wear contacts, but this morning I was feeling lazy and just hadn’t put them in yet. I probably could have injured my eye pretty good, too.

I’m still finding bits of it everywhere. Cripes.

After I took a long shower with my wrapped hand held over my head so as not to fuck up the dressing (damn, it’s hard to shampoo and condition by just dumping it over your head with one hand!), my husband calls and I tell him what happened. When I got to the explosion part, he chuckles and says, “Yeah, they do that.”

And this was the guy who had me do last week in the first place! Not a mention of how they tend to blow up. I mean, I knew something was going on in there, hearing the snapping and popping, but it was quite minor, like the kind you hear if you microwave vegetable soup and the carrots pop. Also, the finished nuked egg wasn’t, you know, a kersplosion of any sort, it just looked a little fractured, as if the cooked white was a trenchcoat and the stiff, yellow yolk inside was flashing me obscenely, but was otherwise all there.

Granted, I should have known better myself. I shouldn’t have needed him to tell me, “Honey, that egg is volatile.” I just wasn’t thinking. At all. :smack:

I feel like donning a dunce cap. Then my husband can gleefully play that new Pet Shop Boys single, you know, “I’m With Stupid”? Yeah, that’s the one.

Damnit.

9

I hate to say this, after all you’ve been through, but you have treated your burn improperly. Never put any sort od ointment or cream on a burn. It holds the heat and causes more damage. A fresh household burn should be iced or run under cold water, to lower the temperature.
Leave it open to the air, but keep it clean and dry. If it’s just red and painful you don’t need to do anything to it. If it’s blistered, leave them alone. If it’s open, and weeping…sigh… go to the doctor. (ER) You don’t need it to get infected.
I’m sorry I laughed so hard I almost peed myself, I know how painful burns are, (2 years working at the burn center at Harborview) but you so funny.

BTW, I keep a designer’s tape measure in my purse… we are not geeks, just because we measure stuff. Heck, we wouldn’t have to if men hadn’t been telling us all our adult lives, (…) this is 12 inches! :smiley:

10

Was it on this board that somebody told about trying order some kind of skillet meal, only without the fried egg that came on top? Only to be repeatedly told, “It comes wi’ a egg.” (This was in the UK, I think.) The meal finally came, with the resolute egg on top, and the diner ostentatiously picked it off and threw it in the garbage again. I’d love to see that one again, but you can’t search on “egg,” and I’m not wading through 30 pages of “fried” searches. Anyone> Bueller?

11

Thanks, picunurse! Yanking off the dressing as I type. I just put some kind of antibiotic crap that came in my little first aid kit, said it was for burns, so I figured it couldn’t hurt. However, what you say rings a vague but familiar note in my mind somewhere, something about not dressing burns or putting greasy old ointment on them… Thankfully, the burn doesn’t seem to be too bad, and it doesn’t hurt right now… time to peek…

OOWWWW!

Sorry, just ripping the medical tape off my hand. Guess I had more peach fuzz than I thought…

Eh. Looks okay under there. Little tender, little red, and the teensiest bit swollen. Think I’ll survive. :smiley: That stuff was HOT.

Now ice, ice sounds good. I did run it under cold water for a few minutes before I bandaged myself up. That felt stingy but good.

12

Okay Anastasaeon, you are not to operate heavy machinery. Ever.

You hear me? I mean it!

(It’s a simple three minute egg and you people turn it into a thermonuclear detonator. Sheesh…) :smack:

13

Be afraid… it’s what I used to do for a living. :smiley:

Guess what kind of job I’m looking for? :eek:

14

microwaves are instraments of evil.

once i put my snake’s frozen rat in one to thaw and…
i now have a new microwave - and a therapist.

15

Oh, she’s okay operating the machinery. Just don’t ask her to take lunch orders.

ducks

Actually, know what’s fun? Cooking scrambled eggs in a pyrex measuring cup. They grow.

I mean they really grow.

But they come out unnaturally fluffy!

16

Looks at fridge. Looks at pyrex measuring cup.

Come to think of it, I am kinda hungry.

17

Truth.

See, my Dad used to do this all the time. Claims it’s the only way to eat scrambled eggs.

And he never got blowed up.

18

I can’t find it either, but it sounds a lot like a post I remember (and think of nearly every time I order breakfast) where the hapless Doper was attempting to order a “three egg omelette” somewhere in Europe, and was completely unsuccessful in communicating the concept. Even after a lengthy back-and-forth explaining that a “three egg omelette” was simply an omelette made with three eggs, the poster was served up an omelette with three eggs: A nice, fluffy omelette crowned with three greasy fried eggs, which were discarded before the (otherwise fine) omelette was consumed.

19

Mindfield has a new Internet groupie.

Incidentally, don’t ask me about the time I tried to make chocolate-covered strawberries.

20

You know what’s even better? Kraft has a product called “Marshmallow Fluff,” which is basically a thixotropic marshmallow substance for spreading on bread. (Makes children explode when combined with Nutella.)

Anyway, when I was maybe thirteen, I accidentally discovered something marvelous. When you run out of Marshmallow Fluff, you may find that there’s a tiny coating of sugary goodness on the bottom of the jar, and trying to get it out with a butterknife will only give you frustration and sticky knuckles. Finding myself in just this situation, I imagined a solution:

My brainwave was to put the virtually empty jar of Marshmallow Fluff in the microwave, and heat it up just enough so that I could pour that last tiny bit onto my Wonderbread, for one last decadent Nutella and Marshmallow Fluff sandwich.

This didn’t happen. Something that was nothing short of miraculous happened instead. As the magnetron did its thing, the empty jar of Fluff filled up again, like a charmed porridge-pot from a fairy-tale, only filled with a much more appealing substance and obediently ceasing to fill when removed from the oven.

The contents of the jar were somehow indistinguishable from a fresh jar brought home from the supermarket.

Magic!

Incidentally, Googling to find a link for Marshmallow Fluff, I see that Kraft is no longer in the business and the familiar glass jar with its distinctive shape is almost nowhere to be found. In fact, the only image of Kraft Marshmallow Fluff that I can find is in a pictorial showing a young lady entirely covering her naked body with the contents of eleven jars of it. My, how times have changed. Good for her that she had the foresight to shave her naughty bits as clean as a whistle before she tried that business. I recall a misbegotten incident in my youth with an adventurous girl and bottle of liquid honey. We had more hair down there back then, too. Live and learn.