That one's mine

This morning I was making breakfast for Katy and me - eggs and bacon, mmm.

(I am aware that this isn't the best thing for us - but it sure is tasty.)

In the process of turning the over-easy eggs I broke one of the egg yolks. Curses! I expressed my displeasure and Katy, dear sweet thing that she is, volunteered to take it.

But I couldn't give it to her.

See, when I was in Boy Scouts (back in the late Jurassic) our troop had a rule about cooking: If you were making food for the group and you screwed something up - say, you dropped a hamburger into the fire - that one was yours. It definitely made you more careful, and I tend to think it cut down on the tomfoolery boys are likely to enter into when preparing food for each other.

This rule has stuck with me. When I mentioned it to Katy, she looked at me funny. Apparently the Girl Scouts do not have this rule.