The Saga of the Egg Sandwich

Some mornings, you just know that a bowl of cereal won’t cut it. Whether you’ve been out partying into the wee hours the night before, or stayed IN partying to the wee hours (*wink wink*), a hit of protein first thing in the morning is just what the Dr. ordered.

Enter the Egg Sandwich.

No matter how you cook it, top it or serve it, it’s a great “morning after” meal.

With that in mind, I decided to cook breakfast for Army Boy after one of our first overnight visits.

I made my version of the Egg Sandwich, a traditional version passed down from my Aunt, who can whip these puppies out in no time flat. I don’t know what it is about them, whether the quantity of butter or the precise placement of the cheese, but they’re heavenly.

To assemble: One English muffin, buttered. One fried egg, over easy and runny in the middle. 1-2 pieces American cheese. Voila! Perfection.

Except… not. Army Boy regarded the oozy middle skeptically, and said “I kinda like these with scrambled eggs.”

“Oh, ok. I’ll make it that way next time!” I offered, pretending that wasn’t a stupid idea.

A month or so later, and we were due for another round of egg sandwiches. Let’s pretend it was because of a night of rock star sex. Because it probably wasn’t. It may have been as a result of a Planet Earth marathon. See why the sex was more fun?

Ahem.

Act Two: I mixed up some gloriously light and fluffy scrambled eggs, divided them and topped them with cheese just long enough to let them get gooey. Served on buttered bagels.

Army Boy consumed his, but looked at his plate with consternation as some of the scrambled eggs came out the sides.

“I don’t think the eggs should be scrambled like this… more omelette style?” he suggested.

“Ok, next time you get to make the egg sandwiches your own damn way,” I conceded maturely.

Fast forward to take three, yesterday morning. This time, the egg sandwich craving was actually as a result of a movie-marathon. Which was a result of the exhaustion of rug-shopping and dealing with the last week of scrambling before closing.

Did I mention that? Our closing is in 5 days. We will be home-owners. And have a mortgage.

I will have grey hair and wrinkles overnight.

*looks around for a bag to hyperventilate in*

Craving sustenance before Rug Shopping, Day 2.0 (we have gorgeous hardwood floors. Which I love. But are in need of some area rugs to up the cozy factor in the bedrooms), I made a mistake.

I decided to make the egg sandwiches.

(stupidstupidstupid)

I made the lovely, fluffy scrambled eggs again. And this time, allowed them to spread out in the pan omelette-style, as specified by his Royal Pain in the Assness. Who, after doing his part in the process by readying the bread, came over and proclaimed:

“That’s going to be too hard to flip. You let it spread out too much.”

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

I promptly chucked all the eggs in the sink and stomped upstairs to get my keys for a Mcdonald’s run.

I pointedly ignored him, flipped said eggs and turned them into a delicious sandwich. Army Boy was finally pleased. Which is good, because I am ready to retire my spatula.

But really. He’s making any future egg sandwiches. To give me the opportunity to complain and point out that they taste like ass. That’ll teach him.

Maybe we’ll just compromise and make two different versions from now on. My (RIGHT) way, and his way.

Internets, is there anything that you and your partner have to come to a compromise on? Laundry, cooking, housecleaning, etc?

**Updated: I loved ALL of your comments on this post. From telling me that “yes, this is normal,” to “it’s ok to stomp off,” to “Cohabiting will allow you to more intimately connect with Army Boy,” they were like balm on my pissy little heart. I love you guys.**

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7 thoughts on “The Saga of the Egg Sandwich

  1. Ah! It’s like you are married already! haha. Yes, I think army boy should make his own darn egg sandwiches. It is so nice of you to try to make it how he likes.

    Early congrats on the house and the co-habiting–that is exciting!… owning a house isn’t as stressful as you might imagine–it has its stressful moments, to be sure, but it’s nice. (the gray hair will come from living together! –kidding, kidding, that is fun too)

  2. LMAO@his Royal Pain in the Assness
    Oh dahling……… co-habitating is a constant learning experience, but it is always a great deal of fun and a wonderful chance to grow more intimately connected to someone on an emotional level. As for is there anything? Ummm, yeah, everything. Very rarely do two people do any task the same way and at some point there will be a moment when one of you finds yourself thinking your way is better. Makes no difference, as long as they don’t become battles. I hate that old phrase, “Choose your battles wisely” Why the hell does there have to be a battle to begin with? That’s rubbish!

    • What great advice! I’ll keep that in mind over the next few days as there will be soooo many opportunities for us to have differing opinions.

  3. You missed the part where AB thanked you profusely for making the eggs the way he liked it. He better have! Yeah, when Huz likes things a certain way, I just make him do it. Either he does it, or he stops complaining. But I must confess that I am the one who usually complains about Huz doing something wrong or whatever. I try to stop myself before it happens because then Huz won’t ever want to do anything. I can’t have that!

    • Hahaha, he totally did after the fact tonite while i was making molten chocolate cakes…

      My response- “uh, did you know that I blogged about you?”

      Mwah ha ha. Powerful tool.

  4. Ah, early cohabitation. My girlfriend and I have been living together for 12 years and you do learn to compromise. Like, she leaves the dishcloths to fester in moldy little piles, and I throw them in the garbage instead of washing them. She reads too late at night, and I disconnect the electrical outlet the lamp is plugged into. She leaves balls of paper towel next to the sink, and I put them them a ziplock bag marked “archival material”. It’s a beautiful thing.

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