every morning when i was a kid, my mom used to crack a raw egg into a special, tiny, demi-tasseish, gold-rimmed Turkish coffee cup, whip it up with a similar demi-tasse spoonful of sugar and hand it over for me to slurp up, fresh as can be. you may be resisting the urge to vomit profusely in your mouth, but i'm here to say that that shit was seriously so fucking mother fucking delicious, it would blow your mind. come to think of it, i need to ask her why in God's name she would subject her only daughter on a daily basis to possible straight up salmonella poisoning, but she did, she absolutely did. who would ever imagine that a rich, sunshine froth of creamy sweet raw egg would be just absolute heaven (haagen dazs rum & raisin ice cream has a similar taste, if you're really just dying to know)? she also told me never to sit directly on the ground in months that had the letter "r" in them, as my ovaries would be prone to catching cold and probably falling out. wait - you know what? that's a lie, she actually NEVER said, "son, be sure to never sit on the ground in September through April for your little egg factories might go on strike forever", but she sure as hell must have insinuated it in some fancy fashion because to this day, if it's remotely September through April, my ass cheeks will not be found anywhere near dirt, plain and simple.
it's amazing that eggs are so amazing. i mean, they're the center of life, but we just fry them up for breakfast and throw ketchup on top, or spread really expensive ones on tiny toasts and walk around acting like we actually mean something.
yes, my mother did call me "Son". all Serbian mothers call all of their children
son, regardless of gender, and if that doesn't just speak straight to the heart of pure, unadulterated chauvinism, i just don't know what does.
