I’ve started hard boiling a bunch of eggs on the weekend so that I can easily bring them in my lunch. Reid noticed me packing one and asked for an egg with her cereal. I peeled it for her but was upstairs brushing my hair before she had time to eat it. As I came back downstairs, she confronted me with the pristine yolk on her palm. “Look,” Reid said, “it’s all yellow.” And it was but I couldn’t see why we were discussing this fact. Reid elaborated, “It’s supposed to be green and then yellow.” “Oh!” says I, the one who usually forgets to watch the eggs as carefully as the need to be watched, “The green only happens when I boil the eggs too long.” Reid could not be persuaded to egg that little ball of sunshine, though. At least she won’t complain if I’m less vigilant next week. This is how bad cooking turns into family favourites, eh?