Life is full of mysteries.
There are too many of them to list, but given that one of this blog’s stated missions is to discuss “life experience,” I am going to veer far, far away for a moment from politics, policy and the future of American jurisprudence in the wake of a Supreme Court justice’s death to discuss one of those mysteries.
Perhaps you’ve tuned in to one of cooking shows that tells you the secret of peeling an egg.
Here’s what just happened to me.
I boiled two eggs this morning for breakfast. I left both of ’em in the water for exactly the same length of time. I peeled the first egg and tore it ribbons. Half of the egg white stuck to the shell as I struggled to remove the shell.
Then I turned to the second one. The shell came off almost in a single piece. Slick is a whistle, man. No sweat.
I’ve never bought into this theories one hears from the likes of Racheal Ray or Martha Stewart about how to perform this simple, mindless task. Put salt in the water? Put cooking oil in it. Heat the water that’s already warm? Heat it when it’s cold? Mutter some ancient Native-American chant? Cross my eyes, stick out my tongue and stand on one leg?
These eggs came from the same carton. For all I know they might have come from the same damn chicken!
It’s a bloody mystery, I’m telling ya.
Whoever can solve this mystery — definitively! — is my candidate for a Nobel Prize of some kind. I’m willing to make up a category.