I use the morning egg flip as an oracle to advise me on the outlook of that day's occurrences. This morning's was a manageable flip. One of those egg flips that doesn't go perfectly, but then you pull some houdini shit and the white flops into position, yolk perfectly preserved, as if persuaded by some comical hermes esque figure in another dimension that watches us like reality TV.
I don't eat eggs everyday if that's what you're thinking. Sprinkled throughout my week's breakfasts are ideally apples, peaches, berries, the classic breakfast hot dog (a slice of bread, banana, and nut butter), possibly a bowl of koala crisps. No doubt a glass of tea at the end. But the egg flip predicts more than just a day. Sometimes a good flip can put me through an adventure. Bet it as it may.
A good flip has little rivalry. Who can argue that a once over easy egg that has a plump yolk, ready to explode with the first puncture of steel or tooth, is even comparable to a limp fish, punctured yolk wannabe. It has to be an egg with a dark orange, lava thick, secret of the ooze goo that coats your mouth like breast milk on bugs bunny. I hear (though don't quote me on this shit, just look it up on wikipedia yourself) that the majority of nutritional components of the egg are in the yolk. That's why I try to preserve it. Well, that and it's a golden lava lamp refugee.
I'm not OCD about it. When I am dealt a fowl flip I do not sacrifice the contents or get upset. I eat that egg as it if were the last egg on the planet. Every hero's tale is that of constant defeat and strategic perspective.