Ode to an Omelet

This morning, I woke up feeling a little miffed. Mostly just because it is Wednesday and yesterday was Tuesday but everyone pretended like it was Monday, so I knew today was going to be annoying.


Then I listened to a little Glee, and consciously took my time getting ready instead of worrying about being on time to class, and it was warm enough outside to wear just a hoodie, so then it seemed like the day was looking up. But even with all of these positives, I was not prepared for what happened next.


At the end of my literacy class, one of the girls stood up. "For those of you who weren't here at the beginning of class," she said, "our science teacher has food poisoning, so class is cancelled today."


Is it my fault that heavenly hosts started singing in my head right then?


It's not just the textured bra and the bare feet that triggered the chorus. It's not just the fact that I feel like my life is slowing draining away when I am sitting there in class. It's also the timing.


Every Monday and Wedneday, I have class from 8:00 am until 2:20 with just a short break from 12:30 - 1:00 (provided Eula can finish up in time), and you know I don't wake up early enough to eat breakfast and get to class on time at 8.

This wouldn't really be a huge problem if I hadn't tried an omelet from Scoreboard Grill with Kelly one random day over the summer. But I did. And my life has never been the same.

And I'm not saying that I have dreams about this omelet. Or that I had two in the past week, two very detailed dreams where I watched that omelet being made, watched it sizzling on the grill, watched it being folded neatly, and then watched it be handed to me over the glass. I'm not saying I had those dreams, or that when I woke up I was craving that omelet like a pregnant woman. But I'm not saying I didn't either. (Okay, I did.)

All I am saying is that today, I actually did go to Scoreboard Grill, in real life. And I actually watched them make my omelet, and fold it, and hand it to me. And then I ate it. And that is how I know that dreams come true, because my teacher got food poisoning, and I got my omelet.

Dear Katherine Heigl,

Your favorite love song was not written about a sandwich. It was written about an omelet. And that is nothing to be sad about.

Love,
Heather