Sometimes I'll cook breakfast for the family. I enjoy breakfast probably more than any other meal and I feel bad if I don't make enough to share. Today was one of those days when I was up early so I cooked exactly what my sister had wanted; corned beef hash, bacon, egg. Everything was going smoothly with the hash and egg in the skillet, the bacon in the microwave since I was feeling lazy today. I set the bacon in the fridge to help it get crispier (don't ask me how it works, I just know it does) and I figured while everything else was finishing up I'd run out and bring in the three pieces of clothes in the dryer. Upon returning to the stove I saw the egg was done so I got my trusty spatula, scooped up the egg and waked over to put it on the plate. The plate that I couldn't find. Meanwhile the egg was apparently stabbed by the spatula at some point so it's dripping yolk everywhere. Twenty seconds and a lot of mess later I realized I had moved the plate and all was right in my little world.
Except for the yolk I had to clean off the stove, floor, counter, sink, dish drainer, dishes.
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