Life as the 2nd VP in a Ginormous Healthcare Union

So I’m sitting on the couch watching “You” on Netflix and I decide, “Hey, this would be a great time to write in my new 2020 journal.” I realize I don’t have a pen, so I leave the couch to go to my office.

On my way to the office, I pass the kitchen where my husband is drinking coffee. I stop to chat with him. Then I realize the time and decide to make breakfast.

I’m a bit hungry and this could count as “brunch” so I decide to make two eggs (oh no my cholesterol!) on avocado toast. But because added fat is something I’m avoiding, I decide to soft boil the eggs in my Instant Pot.

I pull out the Instant Pot, add one cup of water, and place two eggs carefully on the trivet.

THEN I realize how much easier it would be to not have to do the ice bath with them after. I decide to cook the eggs in a silicon poacher. I reassemble the eggs, this time using silicon cups and… at the last possible second… a spray of avocado oil so the eggs don’t adhere to the silicon cups.

I set the cook time for three minutes. I’m not sure if soft poached eggs out of the shell will take this long, but whatever. This way I’m not juggling egg shells made out of lava.

My husband asks, “Why do you prefer to cook the eggs in the Instant Pot rather than on the stove?” I say, “Mostly it’s habit because I am in hotels a lot and cook eggs in an Instant Pot in hotels A LOT.” We both know this is true. I rarely eat hotel food.

I offer him an egg on avocado toast. He makes a face and declines. Then he heads off to shower. He’s never accepted my offer of eggs on avocado toast. I still offer because it’s the polite thing to do.

While I’m waiting, I make toast, then mash half an avocado into the two slices. I sprinkle on some Frank’s Red Hot Sauce because I’m an animal.

I make another cup of coffee. I sip it until the eggs are cooked, then I release the steam on the Instant Pot.

Using tongs I get the silicon cups out of the Instant Pot. The eggs are a little more firm than soft cooked. Drat. Oh well. The price I pay for not burning my fingers is a small one.

I slice the eggs onto the mashed avocado and pick up my coffee. I could eat in the dining room, but it’s Saturday and the couch (plus the Netflix TV show “You“) beckons to me.

I hit play and watch while I eat my eggs and avocado toast. Pure heaven. No plot spoilers from me, but let’s just say, I’m enjoying season two possibly more than season one. Beck was always a little whiny to me.

I finish my eggs and as I place my plate on the coffee table, I see it: my journal.

I never got a pen.