Three days ago, while mixing chocolate chip cookie dough before baking it into a large blob I could cut tiny adorable hearts out of, I went to add the egg. I did everything normal, tapping the side of the egg against the flat of the counter just like I’ve done truly thousands of times before. I quickly moved the egg over the bowl and separated the halves to let the *nothing* inside fall into the bowl. Nothing. Nothing? The egg in its floppy, classically eggy entirety was lounging on the countertop. I guess I was just too strong for it? 

After a frozen moment of debating my options, I decided to scoop the egg off the countertop into the bowl I held just below the edge. It worked, the cookies came out fine, all this after Nikolai came rushing downstairs after I shrieked in dismay and followed it with promptly shouted, “EVERYTHING’S FINE.”