Eggs are/were the first dish that my children make when I deem them old enough to be cooking over a flame. W. and R. are old enough, T. not so much yet. While it was a lovely day when they decided they wanted to learn to cook for themselves, I wish they had learned to cook and clean up after themselves at the same time! Perhaps that's why I throw eggy things into the dishwasher, knowing what I know about the odds they'll come clean. If I didn't cook with it, it seems patently unfair that I'll have to clean it up. And I don't even like eggs.
As if eggs weren't bad enough, at least a good scrub by hand will get them off eveyrthing. This is not the case with the burned microwave popcorn smell that permeated my house sometime last week and is still lingering. Actually, it physically reaches out to assault me whenever I open the microwave door. I'm sure the odor was not helped by the fact that W. did it twice, separated by only a day in between. Not only that, but the liquification of the chemicals intended to mimic butter has permanently stained the inside of the microwave wherever it spilled off the turntable. Ugly and stinky: it's enough to make me consider banning popcorn. At the very least, we won't be having microwave popcorn here again any time soon. Eggs, well, I suppose if they mean I don't have to cook all the time, they can stay, messy as they are.