“Mama had begun to think about what kind of eggs people would want for breakfast. This kept her awake. She wondered if the man liked scrambled eggs for breakfast or what kind. She hadn’t asked, for the man might not know the night before, what sort of egg he fancied in the morning.
I hope it’s not omelette, Mama thought, because I’m not so good at omelette.
Her family always knew what sort of egg they preferred. Each one had an egg prepared in a different way. Rachel had a hard, hard fried egg. Jerry had a hard fried egg but not quite so hard as Rachel’s and just with a very little of the yellow way inside soft.
Uncle Bennie had his like an Easter egg, hard boiled and with a little mayonaise if possible. Odd for breakfast, but that’s what he liked.
Papa liked scrambled eggs. The cats and dog ate any sort of leftover egg with equal interest. Mama herself also liked any sort of egg. And whatever sort of egg Mr. Bish liked, he could have. Probably every way of cooking an egg that she knew of would have to be put into operation in the morning.
Mama tried to count sheep in order to stop thinking about eggs, but she soon lost track and fell back on eggs and hoped she would not be too tired to prepare a wonderful breakfast for their guest. After all, one needs a good night’s sleep in order to fry one’s best egg.” Pinky Pye by Eleanor Estes