The day I tried making my first ever omelette was a nightmare – Hell actually froze over. By the time I was done, the kitchen resembled a war zone. My omelette had more eggshell than actual egg. The cheese had disappeared into my tum. Forgive me, I was six.
Fast forward almost two decades.
I still can’t make a proper omelette. It’ll always either be overdone or happen to stay raw in the middle. Maybe that’s why my relationships suck too.
All of my relationships have kind of been like omelettes. Either overdone or raw. Maybe I didn’t let the oil warm up enough (read: Wasn’t over my ex). Maybe I kept craving for omelettes when hungry (read: got acared of being lonely and jumped into the next relationship, multiple times). Maybe I have ham hands and it’s obvious that my omlettes will always be eggshell-y (read: Don’t know how to prioritize). Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten all that cheese (read: Pretended to be okay with everything).
And before you begin to wonder – no, therapy is NOT HELPING.
I gotta learn how to make an omelette. Before my life cracks like a raw stinkin’ egg and I’m left with a lot of messy yolk to deal with. I’ll update y’all once I’ve mastered the art of cracking eggs one-handed.