How Scrambled Eggs Can Change the World

Yesterday's post was so enjoyable, I thought I'd write another.  Just for the adverbs, if nothing else.

I talked Rachel into yoga class this morning.  I had to compromise and agree to run with her tomorrow, but I'm not thinking about that just now.  (She is very persistent.)  We nearly caught fire during warrior B, but other than that it was a lovely practice.  Though sometimes I wish there was talking in yoga.  I need to get caught up.  Rachel says that's why we need to run.  She has forgotten that I only huff through running.  Or maybe she remembers and prefers a one-sided conversation.  Me, finally, at a loss for words.

This morning while Rachel and I were moving from down dog to child pose and back again, David was leaving me a love note on the bathroom mirror.

In lipstick.  Complete with boyish drawings of lips and hearts.

There's not much that makes me happier than that.

Except maybe this:

With no warning at all, on the way to bed last night David told me that he was going to get me some chickens, so that I can have omelets and egg-salad sandwiches every day for the rest of my life.  I just stared at him.  I have been wistfully asking for a hen house of my very own for most of our marriage.  I could hardly believe it.  Dreams of a backyard with white Silkies and buff Orpingtons filled my head.  (And don't tell David, but maybe even an Ameraucana so I can have blue eggs too.)

I laughed myself to sleep and had dreams about an enormous house that we are always renovating.  (It's a recurring dream, and I know the floor plan by heart by now.  I swear I've taken the wallpaper off the walls in the master bedroom a hundred times.  But apparently, entropy works in my dreams as well.)

I thought maybe I had dreamed the part about the chickens too. 

Amazingly, I hadn't. 

This morning as I was contemplating fresh eggs for breakfast and lunch, it occurred to me that life may never be the same for either of us.

For me, of course, because I may discover that keeping chickens may not be as romantic as it seems in my head.  (Nothing usually is.)

And for David, of course, because he has never been married to a wife with steady and reasonable blood sugar levels.  It is quite possible that I could lose all my charm to protein.  

Luckily for him, I also know how to turn eggs into chocolate cake.

Just to keep things exciting.

Imagine his relief.