Just like Emeril, only different

Out in the more rural part of town there is a road where you can go to buy stuff straight off of farms. Most of it is honour box stuff: honey, free-range eggs, sometimes vegetables and the like.

This is exactly where we went in search of manure for the garden, and where we found a shed by the side of the road filled with just that. I seem to remember my sister saying something about how the task of throwing bags of manure into the back of our vehicle was a load of crap, which was exceptionally witty because that was exactly what it was.

We made other jokes about it as well, which I won't repeat because you can probably guess what they were.

Making potato salad for dinner, I realized that one of the eggs that I had boiled somehow had not been completely submerged and was still pretty liquidy on the inside. No problem. I just put it in the microwave.

There was a point in time in my life when I found it really fun to carefully remove and then replace a small section of the top of an egg, place it in an egg cup and then microwave it in order to watch the top erupt like a volcano. I am over it.

I made sure that the membrane inside the egg was broken so that it wouldn't do the same thing. However, nothing could prepare me for what would happen.

We have a nifty little egg slicer thing that my sister loves to use so she had the honour of chopping them up. I turned my back for just a moment as she began to slice the last egg, the one that had been in the microwave and then all of a sudden I heard a small explosion. When I turned, the yolk of that egg was all over the kitchen and my father, who had been sitting across the kitchen table at the time.

Bam!

I really need to have my own cooking show.

Good luck to a certain Norwegian who has a particularly scarying exam to write about an hour's time. ;)