It’s funny how the small things hit you after a bad week at work. It was my job to make the boiled eggs and toast on the week-end and let’s face it - my husband and I are both fussy - bad week or not - neither of us can stand toast cut in triangles in restaurants for example. We also cannot eat a boiled egg that is not perfectly cooked - solid white and soft yellow. He likes his toast nicely brown but cold, I like mine nicely light brown but hot. So when I forgot to put his toast in before the eggs, disaster struck because there is no way to preserve a perfectly cooked boiled egg while you wait for toast to cool down. Thus, I had to witness my husband’s martyred air while he exaggeratedly first waved his toast up and down as if he were guiding a jumbo jet into its parking space and then put the two pieces in the fridge, glaring at me, arms folded watching his egg get cold. While I munched on my perfect toast, having dipped it in my egg, I had to make allowances: he really had survivied a nightmare of a week.