Okay, if you've been reading my blog for a while, you'll know that sometimes I can get...focused and lose track of things. Like running water in a bathtub or where that important piece of paper is. And now that I'm in the final stretch of getting all the revisions in on H&B, everything else has fallen by the wayside.

Case in point: Thursday, July 26, 2007, 8:15 a.m.

Since I had purchased two cartons of eggs at once in order to enter a contest (hey, I could win $10,000), I thought it would be a good idea to boil a few of them up for breakfast. Now I'm pretty darn particular when it comes to hard-boiled eggs: they have to be hard-boiled. No soggy areas or runny bits for me; they have to be solid. So I let them boil for at least five minutes, even if it's not environmentally friendly.

The DH was heading out the door when he called out, "Want me to turn these off?"

I was downstairs working through the edits, but still I heard him and replied, "It's okay, I'll be right up."

At this point I really have no idea how much time had passed but I had revised about six pages when I heard a loud bang. I raced up the stairs to the kitchen and I saw wisps of smoke and little bits of eggshell on the floor. The scent of roasted, not burnt, eggs hung heavy in the air.

Flipping off the element, I dared to peek into the pot on the stove.

One egg, a little brown on parts of its shell, sat in the bone-dry pot. The other, now in little bits all over the pot, stove and kitchen floor, was just a memory.

Had I known that this high source of protein could be considered a weapon of mass destruction, I would never have left them unattended. Heck, I would have fried up some bacon instead.

So this morning, I stuck with Special K. Because it's safer.