Vingette #1:
I toiled over the sink, with gentleness and determination. My hands all too aware of the fragile treasure they were holding, rotation, rocking slowly back and forth. Hand to hand. But my delicate touch proved too rough over and over.
The white of the shell filling the sink, which I would later remove by hand, since that one simple phone call had not yet been made. That call that would allow a simple disposal to be installed. But I didn't care about that. What I cared about was the marring happening by my own fingers. The egg, coming apart, bit by tiny bit. And over and over, it was not just the shell that was being removed, but the white itself. That smooth, deliciousness... gone. Leaving dents, even craters, in its place.
And there was just one thing I could think at that moment: "Good thing deviled eggs taste good, even if they look like crap."
Vingette #2:
The eggs are plated. They are being filled. My kitchen is a pleasant room, with two smiling girls at my side.
"What are you making?" my younger one asks, always curious.
When I tell her, the older sister makes a face. She doesn't care for the name. But the young one speaks again, acting in her typical way. She is a compassionate one.
"We can change the name. We can call them 'the yummiest eggs.'"
So, we did. We changed the name.
When I was done with the filling, I told her that the cook had the best job. "I get to sample everything," I said, with a smiling eyes. "Do you want a bite?"
She did. "Here come the yummiest eggs!" She opened her mouth wide.
As she chewed, she made a face. She did not think they were yummy.
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