Eggs.

Just the word makes my nose cringe and my esophagus constrict.

I hate eggs. I hate them. I have always told people that the only way I like my eggs is inside of a cake or brownies or something where I can’t taste them at all. It’s a problem.

But the even bigger problem is that I can’t accept my problem. I want to like eggs. I really, really, really do. I’m kind of desperate to like them, actually. Eggs are good for you. They’re cheap. They’ve got a lot of protein. (And I am all about protein. Just ask the girls I live with. They’ll tell ya that I don’t ever make a meal without some sort of meat. Unless, of course, I have a bowl of cereal for supper. But cereal’s “bachelor’s steak” and since I’m the female equivalent of a bachelor, that counts, right? Oh my word. Rabbit trail extreme. Sorry.)

Anyway, the point is that I have hated eggs for my whole life and it really bothers me. I mean, what kind of farm girl doesn’t like eggs? It’s like an unwritten requirement to be a legitimate country girl. You must like eggs. And meat. And fried chicken. And pie. And mashed taters.

I’m digressing again.

Despite my utter distaste for eggs (haha, distate… eggs… get it?!) I periodically force myself to eat them, hoping against all hope that maybe my taste buds died or rearranged themselves or something and I’ll magically like eggs all of a sudden.

I mean, come on. I just want an omelet. The sausage, the bacon, the onions, the peppers, the tomatoes, the cheese… they always look so delicious together. If only I could have the omelet without the egg, I would be one happy girl.

Well, while I was trying to decide what to fix myself for supper this evening, I realized I was craving a breakfast burrito. I kept rummaging in the cabinets and the fridge, hoping to find something more appealing, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about that dang breakfast burrito. I thought about making one with everything but the eggs, but then I told myself I wasn’t allowed to do that. The only way I was getting a breakfast burrito was with scrambled eggs. And I wanted a burrito.

Now, one teensy little drawback to not liking eggs is that you don’t ever learn how to cook them. I’ve never made an egg in my life. I don’t even watch people cook eggs because the smell usually makes me want to puke.

I had to Google how to scramble an egg.

It killed my cooking pride.

I chopped up onions and peppers. I browned sausage and grated cheese. I got everything ready except for the egg.

I almost chickened out. But I didn’t.

I cracked the egg into a bowl and whisked it all up and seasoned it with salt and pepper. I poured the liquified egg into the pan and freaked out.

What the heck do I do with this thing now? Do I let it set? Do I keep whisking? Is it possible to burn eggs?

I decided to keep whisking and was amazed to see how fast the eggs changed from liquid to well, normal looking eggs. I had no idea how long to let them cook, so I guessed and dumped them onto my burrito when they “looked” done.

Here’s the finished product!

It was huge. And messy. But good. For the most part.

The eggs weren’t awesome. I don’t know if that was because of my negative disposition toward them or because I cooked them wrong. Probably both.

But hey, they didn’t make me gag! It’s only taken me twenty-one years to get to this point, but I call that progress.

Maybe in another twenty-one years I will actually, genuinely like eggs.

But for now at least I satisfied my craving.