Cause and Effect

I have the habit of boiling half a dozen eggs at a time, and then popping them into the fridge for later use as a snack, or on salads, or to be thrust into the hand of a son who “doesn’t have time” for breakfast. We don’t have an egg rack in the fridge, so the cooked ones go back in the cardboard carton, with ‘HB’ written on top.

Darcy had seen this system many times over his couple of years with me, and at four, he’s now old enough to understand that HB are letters conveying a specific meaning. Last time he visited, he asked for a hard-boiled egg.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t have any made right now, and there isn’t time to make one before you have to go home.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” He opens the fridge and points to the carton off eggs. “Just write HB on one of these!”