It's a Sunday morning with snow on the ground. The dog has been walked and some staples purchased for nesting through the day. Fang is nowhere to be found, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. The priority then is to create a nice breakfast for one while chatting on the phone with friends. With a menu chosen of scrambled eggs and bacon with iced coffee, and a box of PopTarts purchased as backup in case the first option goes horribly, horribly wrong, it is to the rarely used kitchen we go.
First step is bacon. Bacon seems easy enough to make. In theory, the bacon is thrown into a pan and then it cooks in its own fat. There is probably some optimal flame that should be set or timing that accompanies the flipping of the bacon, but those facts are unknown to me. Thus my bacon gets shrivel-y, for which over time I've actually developed a taste.
With the pan still glistenig from the bacon, the next step is to get the eggs to cook up in that yummy bacon fat. The selected eggs are designer, each with a little label with the name "born free" and the expiration date. Although the name means nothing to me, apparently the parents of these little embryos were allowed to run around which means that these eggs will, um, help me do cardio. What is actually cool about these eggs are the expiration dates; as a total food-phobic that is terrified of food poisoning, the little feature truly sings to me.
As the egg choice today is scrambled (the only way known here) the first step is to put together the ingredients of egg, milk and pepper, thoroughly whisking. Whisking is one of my favorite activities in the kitchen. It may be (probably is) the similarity of the wrist movement involved in whisking to that of masturbation, but we probably shouldn't overthink the subject.
Once the combination is thoroughly mixed, we pour it over the coating of bacon grease that remains in the pan, where it suddenly and violently becomes a bubbly gurgley mass. 
Folding the hardening egg matter into and over itself ensures evenness of cooking. Eventually as the eggs come together, lower the heat and allow the eggs to brown slightly, as these are "scrambled dry"; runny eggs are disgusting.
As the portion sizes are a bit large (purposely so in the rare case that Fang came home), coffee is needed to help push the food through the system. This may work more for me than others. The emergency room is where my allergy to caffeine was first noted during college finals week, my junior year. Two large cups can actually make my vision blur. It's kind of hot. Today is actually the first time the coffee machine has ever been used by me, so there is a bit of fear at play as well. The contingency plan is to load it up with Splenda just in case it is horrid. Another point is that hot beverages do not register with me unless there is illness or snowboarding involved, so this will be an iced coffee. First sip says that everything was turned out well and that, wait, hold up, where is the Kahlua? Can no liquor be kept in this house without Fang emptying it?
Now we've completed our meal. (It was Vanna White's diet book that recommended putting meals on salad plates to give the appearance of a larger meal.) Everything turned out fine, actually quite well considering the self-doubt that went into it. 
And for the math whizzes out there, yes the bacon did go from four strips to one during the course of exposition. Where the bacon went should be no shock. A boy has to eat. Now on the second iced coffee the original plan to nest is abandoned as the nerves are firing like electrical wire in a trailer park during a tornado. To the gym we now go to work off the meal, which is exactly how my cooking show on the Food Network would end.
