0-10 Perhaps my first memory: raw eggs in a bottle. Later, it’s scrambled eggs that make me gag and hard boiled eggs that suck all the moisture from my mouth. My parents keep trying to feed me eggs as if they’re some unparalleled source of protein.
10-20 My parents force me into attending a private school. A friend tricks me into eating moon cake for the first time. Somehow I sense there is some egg involved, but she assures me there isn’t. I get to the center and it’s dry, dark yellow, and crumbly. I forgo the rest.
20-30 I can handle an omelette. Barely.
30+ I order a scotch egg at a hipster restaurant. I’m completely surprised when I am served a well-plated egg. I got too caught up in the prose poem of pork sausage, panko breaded, baby greens, and aioli. I slice with a knife and a deep yellow puddle oozes onto my plate, making my stomach churn. In my thirties I also see a therapist for the first time. I decide not to dedicate any time to discussing eggs or my parents.