Remembering further back, I remember when I was eight years old and my mother was in the hospital with a badly broken ankle. My dad was used to her cooking breakfast for him every morning, so even though I had only helped her make scrambled eggs before and she always took them off the heat for me when they were done, he decided that since I was the only other female in the house I should get up at 5 AM and cook his breakfast.
So I tried. I knew how to break the eggs and scramble them in the bowl and how to turn on the stove and stir them around in the pan so they wouldn't stick. What I didn't know was how to judge when they were cooked enough and take them off the heat and put them onto the plate. So I stirred and stirred and stirred until my dad came to take them off the heat for me. The scrambled eggs looked like little round BBs by then and were completely inedible. After that, my dad decided that he would cook hs own eggs.
